


Search, Rescue, Navigate

by shotboxer



Series: Odds In 'Verse [3]
Category: Primeval
Genre: AU, Other, Spanking, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotboxer/pseuds/shotboxer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past intrudes to complicate things, two brothers are presently in big trouble, and the ARC family continues to chart a better future for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fauna, Aqua, Flora, Culpa

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval, its characters or anything else associated with it. I am making no money from this.
> 
> Please Note: In real life I only advocate spanking practiced between consenting adults. In fiction I read and write any and all spanking. This is a work of fiction and it contains spanking. Don't like, don't read.
> 
> Any mistakes in British English, dinosaur descriptions or other inconsistencies are entirely my own. This fic was written to entertain, not to be an accurate reflection of ‘the real world’. There may be inaccuracies in geography, culture, science or medicine or other facts ahead. You have been warned.
> 
> Spoilers: Discussion of the reveal at the end of Season 1. The fic diverges from canon from 2.7 forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers and floods and crocodiles, oh kitten!

This was not how Stephen had thought he’d be spending his Saturday afternoon.  Becker and Stephen sat side-by-side, and contemplated the water below and the toothy reptile circling their tree.  “You ever going to tell me what happened?”

Stephen sighed: here they went.  Frankly, he’d been surprised when Becks hadn’t said a thing about his marked discomfort when the two of them had gone out for a drink the night before.  He had definitely noticed that Stephen had found them a pub with both the game on and high-top tables to stand at while they watched it.  Yet his brother hadn’t pushed even once.  They’d had a great time watching the game and downing pint after pint, having a conversation that had nothing to do with their work, or anything, really, besides the relative merits of various teams and players.  Now he cleared his throat.  They had to pass the time somehow.  

“Nick took me back to his, gave me a piece of his mind, and proved that he’s got a very hard hand.”  He supposed he was going to have to talk to someone about this.  “Connor’s been waiting for ages for one of us to get in trouble.  So it’s not just him.  Did I tell you he kept bringing it up after Nick smacked him the first time?  ‘Course, he pointed out that it might be me smacking Nick instead, as well.”

Becker snorted.  “Nick didn’t shut him down?”

“We’d just had the other Cutter visit and wave this whole list of stuff he and the other Stephen had punished each other for in the past under our noses.  Plus, it made Connor feel better, thinking he wasn’t the only one who’d be getting it.”

Becks inclined his head to acknowledge the point.  An exaggerated smirk spread across his face, and he raised an eyebrow.  “So what’d you do?”

  _Might as well._    “I wasn’t actually trying to avoid him . . .”

Becker snorted.

Stephen glared.  “You asked.  I’m telling you.  Shut up and listen.”

Becker gestured grandly for him to continue.

 

**_The ARC, the Previous Thursday_ **

 

Stephen was not avoiding anyone.  He was getting work done.  If there was the added benefit of it being less likely that Cutter would find out what he’d done, so be it.  It wasn’t like Stephen hadn’t done this exact same thing many times over the years he and Nick had known each other.  But then, he hadn’t ever felt the need to hide it from Nick before.  Or go to such great lengths to do so.  Nick had always tracked him down mid-act in the past, so Stephen had never had to think about hiding anything, anyway.  Stephen sighed; who was he kidding?  He knew he should just find his friend and confess.  He also knew that he was not going to do that. 

The sound of feet approaching down the hall interrupted his thoughts.  After many years working together, he could easily recognize Nick’s gait.  _Too late_.  The Scot stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.  “Want to tell me why you’re avoiding me?”

“No.” 

“Stephen Hart.”

Said Stephen drew himself up and glared.  He wasn’t a little kid, and Nick wasn’t his father. 

“Don’t dig yourself in deeper by making me drag it out of you.  You wouldn’t be hiding out in here if you didn’t think you’d done something wrong.”

“You’re not my father.  And I resent your tone.”

Nick moved into the room to lean against the counter across from Stephen.  “No, I’m not your dad.  But you are part of my family, and we have rules.  You can resent me for enforcing them, but I’m still going to do it.”

 _Oh, so this was about family now_?  Stephen huffed, “Aren’t you supposed to be yelling?”

“I want to know why you did it.  You’re not going to tell me if we get into a shouting match.”

Nick had never cared about _why_ before.  Nick folded his arms and gave Stephen a sharp look.  Stephen blew out a breath.  “I didn’t think anyone needed to see the footage.”

“So you used me as an excuse to erase it?  Why not just come to me in the first place?”  Nick’s eyes narrowed.  “What did that footage show, Stephen?”

Stephen closed his eyes.  He’d been alone in the room and the footage was gone now.  If he didn’t tell Nick, then there was no way Nick would ever know.  Didn’t matter that Nick had known every time before; this time . . .  But he couldn’t lie, and he knew there was no way that he could, or would, look into Nick’s face and point-blank refuse to tell him.  Stephen dropped his head in defeat.  “I was doing bench presses, and I put on too much weight.  I lost control and got pinned under the bar for a second.  But I was able to shift the weight and roll out from underneath.  I didn’t get trapped,” he reassured quickly.

“Where was your spotter?”  Nick sounded like he already knew the answer.

“I didn’t have one. I was the only one in the gym.”

“And that’s when you decided to push yourself.  I assume it wasn’t just the free weights you went overboard with?”  Stephen shook his head.  Nick knew him too well.  “Are you hurt?”

“Whacked my shoulder, but it’s just bruised.  Rest of me is pretty tired, too.”  Stephen stripped off his shirt, and did his best to ignore the way his muscles still trembled as he did so.  Nick would feel better if he could see for himself that Stephen was bruised but fine. 

Cutter approached with a murmured, “Thank you,” and carefully ran his hands over the nasty-looking discolorations along Stephen’s shoulder.  He prodded at Stephen’s chest, as well, causing the younger man to hiss as Nick’s fingers pressed into the yellowish skin that marked the place where the weight bar had rested before he’d managed to squirm out from underneath. 

Nick squeezed Stephen’s arm and stepped back, “You put any ice on it yet?”

Stephen nodded, “I iced it for a bit before and after I showered.”  He was well aware that if he hadn’t, the swelling would have made it much harder to move his shoulder.

“That’s something, at least,” Nick backed up so Stephen had room to put his shirt back on.  When Stephen looked up, his eyes were immediately caught by Nick’s gaze. 

 

**_Present Day, Up in the Tree_ **

 

Remembering the look on Nick’s face, Stephen shifted for the umpteenth time and tried pushing up on his heels so he could stand against the trunk instead.  He considered taking his jacket off to use as some sort of cushion.

Becker glanced over at him and pointed out, “If you keep doing that you’ll wake up Scrap.” 

Stephen glared.  “What?  You’ve named her now?”  He slid back down in defeat, and did his best to put most of his weight on his lower back where it rested against the trunk.  Becker knocked Stephen’s knee with his foot from his position parallel and facing his older brother on the other of the two branches the pair were using as their seat.  Stephen glared harder as he used his hand to keep the knock from jostling the soft bundle of fur curled up in his lap, “And what kind of a name is Scrap?”

His younger brother was alarmingly good at reading him.  “Keep your jacket on, the temperature is going to drop soon when it starts to get dark, and we can’t risk you sending it flying out from under you, thanks to all your squirming.”  Becker gestured at the snoozing kitten.  “You have to admit, for a tiny scrap of thing, she’s very scrappy, having a go at the nasty crocodile before hightailing it up here.”

Stephen grimaced at the pun. and refused to give Becks the satisfaction of groaning.  He glanced down to confirm that, yes, the flood waters were still there.  At least they weren’t getting any higher.  They weren’t getting any lower, either.  “How long do you think before they figure out where we’ve gone?”

Becker leaned his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes.  “They have to work out that we’re both missing first, and then we have to hope Connor can track our phones.” 

Becker glared at their cars sitting high and dry a football pitch away on the road.  With his head turned, he failed to notice Stephen’s eyes narrow.  The bloody ‘creature’ Becker had come out here to investigate just had to be spotted in a river bed that was under the threat of flash-flood thanks to a recent record-long, hard rainstorm. Stephen and Becker had been facing off with the crocodile that had rushed at them from out of the undergrowth, when a rumbling roar had alerted them to the approaching wall of flotsam-choked water.  A muddy deluge higher than their heads had come barreling down on them like a fresh-water tsunami. They’d had just enough time to follow Scrap up the gnarled co-mingled trunks of two ancient oaks, their lower halves getting soaked as they scrambled and scraped their way to safety.  Fortunately, the crocodile’d been sufficiently startled by the onrushing waters to leave the tasty humans alone long enough for them to clamber out of its reach.  Unfortunately, it was now very much at home swimming circles around the submerged base of the trees, as if it knew that Stephen and Becker were going to have to come back down into the range of its jaws eventually.

“I really wish I hadn’t dropped my phone.  And that you hadn’t left yours in the car.”  Stephen fixed Becker with a glare that was looking somewhat bedraggled around the edges, thanks to its frequent deployment.

“So you’ve said.”  Stephen’s friend ran a hand over his face.  “This whole thing was stupid.  I didn’t want to get everyone out if it turned out to be nothing.  I knew Connor might be able to track my mobile, even if it. . .”  He closed his mouth belatedly.

Stephen’s voice was tightly controlled.  “Are you saying that you turned your mobile off?”

Becker grimaced, but nodded.  “I overheard some men in the pub when I went to the toilets last night.  One of them had a brother who works out this way, who’d told him about some beast that was making off with people’s pets.  I figured I’d come check it out.”

“Check out a creature sighting?”  Stephen fixed his little brother with a deadly glare.  “You didn’t say a thing about a creature when you called me.”  Becker shook his head, then nodded, then turned his head away from Stephen’s censorious gaze.  Something horrible occurred to Stephen.  “We were both hammered when we left the pub last night.  You drove out here?”

Becker’s head snapped around in response to Stephen’s tone as much as the accusation itself. “No!  I went back to my flat and slept it off.  I woke up with a splitting headache and couldn’t get back to sleep.  I don’t drink much, and I don’t really handle hangovers all that well.  So I try and find something to distract myself.”  His eyes flitted down to the kitten snoring in Stephen’s lap.

Stephen gritted his teeth.  “So when you called me for a lift because your car was stuck in the mud?”

“The sun was in my eyes, and I dialed on autopilot.  Then you answered, and I couldn’t very well say it was a wrong number.”

“Your number came up as unknown when you called.”

“There’s a telephone booth up the road a bit.  I used that.”

“And your mobile is in the car, still turned off.”

Becks nodded.  He braced himself.  “I was still hung-over and trying to drive, and the ringtone would have hurt my ears.”

“You didn’t bother to turn it back on.  Nor tell anyone that you were investigating a potential creature sighting.”

“I was going to call it in as soon as I verified it was a creature.  Then the car got stuck, and I saw the telephone booth.”  Becker shrugged.  “While I was waiting for you, I spotted Scrap there, and I couldn’t risk her getting curious and maybe running into the creature before I did.”

“The creature you failed to mention when you called me.”

“I had no idea if it was even here or still going to be here when you showed up.”

“So if it was gone when I arrived or you hadn’t found it, you would have just not mentioned it?”

Becker forced himself to meet Stephen’s eyes.  “I don’t know.  I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Stephen reached out and poked the part of Becker’s boot that he could reach with extreme prejudice, “I am not covering for you when Cutter decides to skin you alive.”

Becker froze.  He apparently hadn’t made that connection until just now.  “I deliberately made myself unreachable.”

“And went to investigate a potential creature sighting on your own, with no gear other than the one gun in the glove box.” 

Becker put a hand out to stroke Scrap, grazing Stephen’s hand as he did so.  “I was stupid.  I would never do something like this on the job, and I’d sure as hell tear any of my men a new one if they tried it.”

As frustrated and angry as he was, Stephen still responded to the bewildered tone in Becks’ voice.  He placed his hand on top of his brother’s, “You’re testing your boundaries.  You know your role on the job.  There’s a whole set of protocols and rules for you to follow and enforce.  With the family, we’re still working it out.”

“I’m not.  That’s just childish.  And . . .”

 “Still true.”  Stephen glanced at the sun, which was definitely setting now.  Their trousers had dried a fair amount since they’d been up here, but they were still somewhat damp, and it was going to get cold.  “We need to figure out a way to huddle closer so we can share body heat.”  Becker seemed confused, but willing to take the change of subject and run with it.  Stephen rolled his eyes.  For someone how ran operations all the time, Becks was being rather dense when it came to putting the personal on hold to deal with immediate practical needs.  “I’m still not happy with you about any of this.  But I’m glad you called me.  Sorry I couldn’t pull off ‘big brother to the rescue’ better.”

Becker blinked, “Thanks.  Still not going to rescue me from Nick, though, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Becker pulled into himself at that.  Stephen frowned; something was off here.  He couldn’t put his finger on it, though, and he got the strong impression that pressing Becks on the subject right now would greatly decrease the likelihood of his younger brother being coaxed to talk about it later.  He tried not to hiss as he unconsciously shifted his weight and his bum reminded him it was still tender.  He could sit; it just wasn’t comfortable.  Especially on a hard, rough-barked tree limb.  The drive out here had not been pleasant, despite the scenery. 

Maybe Stephen did get why Becks might want to distract himself from that hangover, after all.  He ought to have a word with the others about helping Becks deal in the aftermath of the smacking he surely had coming.  That aftermath was definitely going to be harder for him to handle than the aftermath of a night of alcoholic overindulgence. 


	2. The Hart of the Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nice and comfy telling a story of decided discomfort.

Becker drew Stephen out of his musing with, “We need to find a better position to keep each other warm in.  One where we can still keep an eye on the road.”

Stephen nodded.  “Sleep in shifts, if it comes to it.  Stephen and Becker cuddling in a tree . . .”

Becks snorted.  “Well, it’s raaaather nice to have a cuddle . . .”  Stephen laughed out loud at the spot-on Bagpuss impression. 

“Alright, Becks-puss, your wish is granted.”  He carefully scooped Scrap off his lap into the crook of his elbow and began to ease himself up, eyeing up the surrounding branches for a good place to settle. 

Becker had been doing the same, and gestured up and to his right, where the trunk had split and a large branch had grown into the cleft, forming a sort of trough.  “Shouldn’t that be Becks _and_ Puss?”

“No.  Here, you go first.” 

They climbed and shimmied their way into the new perch, wiggling around until they were seated side-by-side, legs stretched out in front of them and bodies smashed tightly against each other.  It was a very tight squeeze.  Stephen poked Becks in the shoulder.  “Scoot down.  You can lean against me first, and then we’ll switch places later on.”  Becker scooted and turned himself so he was on his side, curled up with his head on Stephen’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around his older brother’s middle.  Stephen slouched into position and wrapped his arms around Becks’ shoulders. 

Becks glanced up at him, “Isn’t this putting pressure on your bum?”

“There was pressure on it before.  And I’d rather go from pressure to taking a load off than the other way around.”

“Fair enough. Ack!” Becker yelped as tiny claws punctured the fabric of his trousers.  They’d both forgotten about Scrap as they’d maneuvered—a fact that the kitten was not best pleased about, as she made clear by tromping quite a bit harder than necessary on both men’s thighs as she circled before seeming to become satisfied and settling down to curl back into a purring, drowsy ball.

Stephen sighed, “Great.  Purring kitten’s the perfect soundtrack to stay awake and watch for passing cars to.”

“Extra heat’s nice, though.”  Becker tilted his head back as he tried to look Stephen in the face, before giving up and tucking his chin back down.  “You seem like. . . it’s been a day and a half.  You’re too sore if all you did was over-exert yourself and try to hide it.”  Becker’s tone telegraphed the unspoken _aren’t you_? loud and clear.  When Stephen didn’t say anything, Becker cleared his throat.  “So . . .  How’d it go?”

Stephen wondered if Becks was asking for Stephen or for himself.  “It was the end of the day by that time, so he followed me back to my place . . .”

 

**_En-Route to Nick’s House, the Previous Thursday_ **

 

Stephen was well aware that Nick was holding himself in check only because he fully anticipated having ample opportunity to light into Stephen once they reached the privacy of Stephen’s flat.  He swore he could _feel_ Nick’s glare on the back of his neck, even from two cars behind him.  He considered losing Cutter in traffic.  But that’d be hard at rush-hour.  Nick knew where he lived and worked, and he’d already tracked Stephen down once today.  Stephen would have to slink home eventually.  He pictured himself escaping to the hills to live off the land and run wilderness survival classes far, far away from any irate Scots.  It made a good fantasy to distract himself with while he drove.  He was _not_ going to think about the reminder he’d gotten a while back and how much it’d stung.  Just thinking about not thinking about it made Stephen’s face flame.  He wondered if any of the other drivers could see his expression from the surrounding cars.  He wasn’t about to look and find out.  They didn’t know him from Adam, anyway.  _Building a nice, cozy shelter in the hills_. . .

Stephen did his best to look nonchalant as he followed Nick up the steps of his building, let them in, and turned to take the stairs.  The elevators were always crowded and slow this time of day.  Three flights up, and then they were at his door.  Stephen was glad to hear no hint of heavy breathing from Nick after the climb.  Seems their job was finally getting Cutter into the better shape Stephen had been nagging him about for years.   Not that reminding the man about fitness would be a brilliant idea just now.  Especially with how wobbly Stephen himself was feeling after trekking up the stairs on already overtaxed legs. 

Stephen let them into the flat and dropped his keys on the counter.  He liked his new place much more than the old, minimalist one.  He finally felt like he was doing more than just squatting in his own life.  He had a proper bedroom, a spare room for guests and even an open plan lounge next to the kitchen, big enough to fit a work table and an oversized couch.  Out of habit, Stephen led the way into the kitchen.  Normally he’d offer Nick a beer, and they’d discuss what to watch on TV.  This was not that type of social call.  He turned to face the music.  “What now?”

Cutter blinked.  Apparently Stephen wasn’t the only one who wasn’t sure about this.  “I’m in charge then?  Or are we still discussing things?”

Stephen frowned, “I figured you’d be yelling by now.”

“Aye, I’ve definitely got some shouting to do.  Figured we might discuss things more beforehand.”

Stephen appreciated that Nick was trying, but it still made him smile.  “You mean, you might not end up shouting at me at all, if we discuss things?”

“No, I’d bloody well shout at you if we were in the middle of a crowded shopping mall.”

Given the number of times Nick had hauled a shaky, sweat-drenched Stephen out of one gym or another over the years they’d known each other, that was an understatement.  Stephen could still remember some of those lectures, lasting, as they usually had, from the moment Nick tracked Stephen down to wherever he was pushing himself too hard that time, all the way until Nick had put him to bed, fed and showered, ears still ringing.  “Can’t say you’ve ever been shy about letting me know what you think.” 

Nick noticed his smirk.  “You think this is funny?!  I cannae believe you!  I wouldn’t have let something like this slide when you were a student, and if you think for one moment. . .”  He trailed off into a growl.  “Yes, alright.  Things haven’t changed between us that much.  At all.” 

“Yelling now, then?  Or d’you want to sit and talk some first?  Just so you’re comfortable with how these things go . . .”

“Not my comfort you should be worried about, lad.” 

Nick almost never called him ‘lad.’  Stephen couldn’t even remember the last time he had.  He took in Nick’s face.  _Uh oh_.  _Shouldn’t have poked the bear_. “Erm . . .”

“Sit.”  Stephen sat.  He really wished Nick was yelling.  Exasperated yelling was par for the course.  A quiet, angry Nick was much more worrying. Nick pulled out a chair and sat across from him.  That they were now on the same level didn’t help.  “You haven’t okayed my smacking you yet.  I agreed not to bulldoze you.  You are still my friend, and a member of my family, and I care what happens to you.  So I want to know why you’d do _something so foolish as to take a risk like that.  You sodding well could have been injured, and then you used me to cover up your own bloody stupid decision_.”  Stephen winced.  There was the yelling. 

“Sorry?”  Stephen recalled the many times in the past when he had sounded much more confident in facing up to his mentor’s wrath, times when he’d yelled right back without a thought.  Now he sounded like. . . well, like Connor.  He was both wrong-footed and gratified that that thought did not bring with it contempt for Connor’s weakness.  The word ‘pathetic’ hadn’t even crossed his mind.  Seemed like Stephen hadn’t realized how much maturing he’d done since he’d met the younger man, if he was only now realizing how lazy and mean his thinking had been over the years.  _Better late than never_? 

“Sorry?  Sorry what?  That I found out?  That you did it in the first place?  That you tried to cover it up?  Did you think you’d get away with it?”

“I have before.”  _Oh_.  Stephen could see Nick’s mind running down the same pathways. Stephen over-exercising to the point of collapse had been a regular occurrence since Nick had known him.  When Stephen had exhausted himself again and again, Nick had hauled him home and looked after him again and again.  He hadn’t ever tried to get Stephen to talk about why he did it, what feeling he was trying to outrun and out-lift.  He’d been there to pull Stephen out of the pit, but he’d never tried to stop Stephen from leaping into the pit in the first place.  They’d both done a lot in the past, and rowed about it, and Nick had grumbled and made comments about whatever it was the next few times it came up, but he still hadn’t objected when Stephen had kept right on doing it. 

It wasn’t that Stephen thought that Nick had been a bad mentor.  He certainly didn’t think he’d been, or was, a bad friend.

And apparently, they’d reached the same conclusions, too.  “I’ve been a bad friend.  All those years when I could’ve been helping you figure out how to deal with things some way other than running yourself half to death . . .”

Stephen shook his head.  “Same goes for me.  Even when I was your student, I could’ve found ways to say something, or tried to.  Told you what I needed from you, or. . .”

Nick raised his eyebrows, “Wasn’t your place or your job, as my student.  Nor as my assistant, really.  I valued getting along with you more than I did doing right by you.”

Nick had treated Connor with less ‘trust’ and more ‘supervision’ in the few years they’d known him than he ever had Stephen.  Looking back, Stephen couldn’t say that he’d been any more competent than Connor when it came to the things he and Nick had run up against each other about. 

“Sometimes.  I definitely coasted on your thinking I knew more about things than I did.  But yeah, there were times when you should have put your foot down.  You know, I always resented them calling me ‘Cutter’s golden boy’.”  Stephen flushed. “Guess I didn’t want to think about how it was true.”

“Aye.  I’m sorry Stephen.  I shouldn’t have let you off so much.  Should have helped you face up to things and do better.  I didn’t trust you to be an adult about it.  To take it in stride and stay with me.  Stay my friend.  I didn’t trust myself, either.”

Stephen nodded.  He and Nick had been through too much to sugar-coat it.  “You should’ve been my supervisor first.  We got on, but there needed to be better boundaries.  We could be friends once I was your assistant, but when I was your student, it wasn’t appropriate.  I contributed to that as much as you did.  Played on it.”

“We both should’ve been adults about it, you mean.”

“Yeah.  D’you think we’d still be friends, if we had?”  He swallowed, “Because I really needed a friend.”

“I’d like to think so.  Would have taken more work.”  Cutter tilted his head, “Or a different kind of work.  Less yelling, more talking.  Not letting each other take the easy way out.”

“Well we both know just how well I do with boundaries.”  Stephen met Nick’s eyes, “I’m trying, Nick.  I honestly am.  But ten plus years of habits don’t just disappear.”  He was surprised to find his vision had gone blurry.

Nick crouched in front of him and put a hand on the back of his neck.  “I won’t give up on you, Stephen.  There’s no one I want in my life more.”  He offered Stephen a tentative smile. “Seems we’ve both got a bit of growing up to do, still.  I think we make a pretty good team.  So long as we pull together, this ‘adult’ stuff should be a cakewalk.  Yeah?”

Stephen reached out to put his own hand on the back of Nick’s neck.  “Yeah.”  He wiped at his eyes. “And now you’ve jinxed it.”

Nick chuckled as he squeezed Stephen’s neck before letting him go and standing. “Shouldn’t have said ‘cakewalk.’  Don’t tell the others I said that.”

Stephen snorted, “I get it.  Don’t worry.  We’ve got more history; doesn’t mean you don’t want the rest of them.  It was what I needed to hear.  Thanks.”  He grinned at Nick. “See?  You do occasionally say the right thing.”

“More than occasionally, I hope.”

Stephen shrugged, “Old habits . . .”

Nick looked at Stephen.  There was silence for a moment.  “You alright?  If you’re still shaky, if you need a rest, we can get you settled and shelve the rest for later.” 

Stephen sighed, “No, I’d rather . . .”  Since they were being adults about this, “. . . You were saying something about my thinking I could get away with it?”

“Aye, well.  You’re not going to get away with it.  Not this time.  Not from now on.  So why don’t you tell me what it is that we’re here to address?”  Nick folded his arms and leaned against the table, looking down at Stephen expectantly. 

“Lifting without a spotter and pushing myself too hard.”  Stephen was still feeling as much defensive as he was guilty. “It wasn’t that bad.  You never worried about that before.”

Nick shook his head, “Before you were in public gyms with other people who could help if you’d really needed it.  You were alone today and there was no guarantee anyone would’ve walked by and come to your rescue.  You could’ve been seriously hurt, Stephen.”

Stephen swallowed and moved on before he could think about that too much, “I used you to cover it up.”

“You used me as _an excuse_.  You shouldn’t have been covering it up in the first place.  We agreed that we shouldn’t hide things or lie to keep ourselves out of trouble in this family.”

That derailed Stephen’s indignation at the scolding with a virtual screech.  This was about how their family kept each other safe and accountable.  “It wasn’t you I was thinking about finding out.  I wasn’t thinking about you finding out at all.”

He braced for Nick to start interrogating him.  Nick latched onto a different tack. “You didn’t think we’d find out, or you didn’t think about what you were doing in the first place?  That you shouldn’t be doing it or that we’d have a problem with it?”

Stephen winced, “The last three ones.”  He dropped his gaze to his lap.  “I knew I shouldn’t be lifting without a spotter, but I didn’t let myself think about it.  Just went and did it.  Figured I’d be fine.”

“So when it went pear-shaped, you were caught out . . .  Am I right that if things hadn’t gone wrong, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it?”

Stephen flushed, “Yeah.  Kept doing it, too.  Like always.”  Confessing was _hard_.  He’d thought he respected Connor for owning up immediately before.

“You’ve gotten quite good at thinking yourself invincible.  We will definitely be working on that.”

Stephen nodded.  He didn’t actually _want_ to get himself hurt. 

Nick grunted in acknowledgement.  “You’ve broken the rules.  It doesn’t matter that I’ve not done more than yell about it in the past.  You risked hurting yourself for no good reason, you didn’t follow safety procedures, and then you tried to cover it up.  You could have been hurt.  Given that you asked for a reminder a while back, I could well not ask this, but I’m going to.  Do you agree that you’ve earned yourself a spanking?”

Stephen swallowed a groan.  He’d really meant it when he’d told Connor that he wouldn’t be brave enough to admit he deserved it.  He pushed away the image of Connor’s red bottom after Nick had spanked his little brother for risky behavior.  Nick was right, he didn’t have to ask.  Stephen would go along with it if Nick simply assumed his consent.  Nick was being _considerate_.  Stephen’s eyes flicked away.  He couldn’t look at Nick.  Stephen shook his head. 

“Out loud.”

Stephen shook his head harder.  His eyes stayed fixed in the middle distance.

“ _Stephen_.”

Stephen kept shaking his head.  He couldn’t say it.  He felt like a coward, but he couldn’t open his mouth.  His eyes met Nick’s patient gaze of their own accord.

“I can’t tell if you’re saying no or you don’t want to answer.  You have to say something.” Stephen shook his head.  “Answer the question, Stephen.”    

Stephen looked away.  Nick shoved away from the table, grabbed his chin and made Stephen look into his eyes.  His tone was pure Scottish steel, “ _Stephen. James. Hart_.” Stephen took in a shaky breath.  He couldn’t make his voice work.  He held Nick’s eyes and slowly, shakily nodded.  “One more time; I need to make sure.”  Stephen’s nod was steady this time.  Nick let go of his chin, “Hmmm.  We’ll work on that.”  He moved his hand to the back of Stephen’s neck and drew him up.  “I’m foregoing the soap you’d normally get for hiding things in favor of some extra spanking.  I think a sorer bottom will go further towards keeping you from repeating your behavior.”

Stephen closed his teeth around the stream of _No, no, no, oh please no, I don’t want a spanking_ that was running in a loop through his head.  He could hear his own shaky distressed breathing as Nick clasped his arm and turned them toward the bedroom.

Stephen yelped as Nick’s hand swatted his bum hard enough to jerk him forward into stumbling along beside his honorary uncle. He discovered that gabbling in the face of impending doom was not just a Connor thing, “Nick, please.  We can talk about this.  I won’t do it again.  You don’t need. . .”

“You most certainly do need it.  I’m in charge now and you are going to do as you’re told.” 

Stephen and Nick stepped into his bedroom.  Nick sat on the side of the bed and left Stephen standing in front of him. Nick thumped a knuckle against his chest. “Eyes up.  _Now,_ lad.”

If this were anyone else, Stephen would be as stoic and dignified as they came.  This was Nick, whom he’d been through thick and thin with, whom he’d helped grieve, and who’d been there when Stephen had fallen apart over his own losses.  He raised his eyes and met Nick’s, shaking his head hard.  Nick nodded grimly, “Oh yes.  You’ve earned it, and you know it.  Trousers down and bend over.” 

Their gazes held and held and held.  Stephen sniffled in the face of Nick’s resolve.  Without taking his eyes off Stephen, Nick reached out and took his time opening Stephen’s trousers and lowering them to his knees.  Stephen moaned, wordlessly imploring.  He couldn’t imagine a reprieve at this point, couldn’t imagine being abandoned to his transgressions.  He was all at sea and deeply unused to having a way to deal with that feeling.  Usually he suffered in martyred silence.  Now his mistakes and his guilt were out in the open and about to be addressed. 

He opened his mouth just as Cutter’s hand closed over his wrist and yanked, “ _Ni-iiiiicck_. . .”  Nick’s hands seized the waistband of his shorts and towed them down with equal, inexorable slowness to join his trousers.  Stephen blushed hard as he automatically wriggled around so he was secure across his friend’s knees.  He felt Nick rest his hand on his bare bottom, “No, Nick, _please_.”

“Yes, Stephen.  You weren’t safe and you didn’t look after yourself today.”  He patted Stephen’s bottom, “I am going to smack you for your poor choices, and you are going to cry because that’s what happens when you get spanked.  Rule breaking and risky behavior have consequences, lad.”  

Stephen couldn’t have told you where his arms were or what his face was resting on.  The only thing he was aware of was Nick’s hand on his bum where it stuck up in the air, bare and vulnerable and perfectly positioned to be smacked.  There was a sharp burst of pain on one cheek, Stephen heard himself yelp, and then there was another bright, stinging burst, and another, and then more and more.  Stephen was tired and scared and mired in emotions he hadn’t let himself fully experience for years.  Prickling heat spread through his bottom.  He could hear himself, “ _Ow, ow, oh ow, ah, owwie, owww_.”  He could hear the relentless fleshly cracks as Nick spanked and spanked.  Sound receded as his experience narrowed down to his wet face and the pain in his bottom. Stephen knew that they had only just started.  Stephen put his head down and burst into tears.

When his friend collapsed into jagged sobs Nick needed to remind himself as much as he had Stephen, that crying was part of the process.  He could count on one hand the times that he’d seen Stephen cry before, and none of them like this.  Stephen was broken apart, dependent and trusting Nick to be able to handle it.  Nick would handle it.  He’d assure Stephen of his love and affection, and that he didn’t think one whit less of Stephen for any of it.  Quite the opposite.  Nick couldn’t imagine much that’d be harder for an adult to take than a thorough spanking.  He wished he could tell Stephen just how well he was doing.  Stephen wasn’t in a place to hear it.   

Nick wasn’t spanking very hard, his opening volley delivered at barely mid-strength.  Stephen’s tears certainly weren’t in response to the pain in his bottom.  Not yet.  Stephen’s initial violent round of tears subsided into stifled gasps.  Nick stiffened his arm and his wrist so each solid spank pushed Stephen’s hips forward slightly.  Gasps became the _ssst_ and _eumm_ of hiss and whimper.  It wasn’t long before Stephen’s legs jerked out behind him in an unconscious bid to ease the sting.  Soon after, he was kicking outright, his hips sloshing side-to-side in the cradle of Nick’s lap, his cries becoming more breathy and urgent. 

Nick spanked harder and faster.  Stephen threw a hand back in a bid to protect the target of Nick’s chastisement.  Nick swept the hand aside, and moved his hand down to spank where Stephen would feel it most for a good half a minute, before returning his attentions to the top and center of the smarting bottom.  He eased off some, loosened his wrist, and smacked quick and sharp.  Gasping tears resolved into full sobs.  Stephen’s choked voice was punctuated by his drumming feet, “P-please, Nick, pleaseee, I-I w-won-won’t d-do it agaiiin, sto-ooop, ouch, pleeeease stop, pr-proomise ne-never again, pleeeaaaseeee noooooooo . . .”

Nick silently shook his head.  He flexed his hand, and cracked it down three times on one spot, before applying the same treatment to the matching spot on the opposite cheek.  When Nick reached the third spot, he needed to pause to swing his right leg over Stephen’s flailing ones.  Stephen thrashed and continued to beg, most of his words swallowed up by overwhelmed wails.  As Nick worked his way down to the crease where bum met thigh and back up again, Stephen kicked his heels up hard enough that they came close to touching the back of his calves.  He did his best to swim off Nick’s lap, undulating under Nick’s leg and arm in desperate jack-knifes.  Nick landed the final third smack to the spot where he’d started the pattern, and settled back into an even spanking rhythm.  He concentrated on stoking equal heat in every part of the rosy bum before him, and waited out Stephen’s desperate bucking.  A part of him noted with detached amusement that Stephen was quite the wriggler, compared to Connor. 

Stephen’s struggles subsided to a relatively more restrained squirming, and Nick took the opportunity to shake out his hand.  Nick adjusted his swing back down to light strength and contemplated his options.  Stephen had deliberately risked injury to himself with concealment aforethought.  Nodding to himself, Nick gritted his teeth against the burn in his palm and focused on making the lesson stick. 

He raised his hand and brought it down, heavy and hard in a solid whack.  He slowly covered Stephen’s bottom with two rounds of resounding thwacks.  Then Nick started to apply quick, stinging blows at speed with determined flicks of his wrist.  Nick took his time whisking extra smart into Stephen’s blazing bottom as his ears were filled with his younger friend’s overwhelmed sobs.  He delivered two circuits of regular, mid-strength spanks to the quivering bum, and followed that with another firm dose of whisked slaps.  Nick assured that each sit spot received its own lighter version of every type of spank.  Stephen’s struggles quieted and his crying deepened with each fall of Nick’s punishing hand.  A round of hearty wallops and a final two rounds of firm spanks, and Nick stopped smacking.  He rested his trembling, burning palm on Stephen’s thigh, and considered his point made.

Nick moved his leg off of Stephen’s limp, twitching appendages, and reached up under Stephen’s shirt to rub his back. “All done, lad.  You’re done paying for your mistakes.  I forgive you.  Take your time now.” 

 

Resurfacing from his memories, Stephen trailed off, unsure about how to tell the next part.  He’d think of something . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bagpuss is a popular UK children's tv show from the 70s. It stars the titular Bagpuss, "a saggy, old cloth cat, baggy, and a bit loose at the seams" who is pink and white striped and talks in a warm, low voice. "It's rather nice to have a cuddle" is one of his catch phrases. For more info and pictures, see the Wikipedia entry: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bagpuss


	3. Family and Other Irritants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siblings, chosen and naturally acquired.

**_Back in the Tree_ **

Since about half-way through Stephen’s description of his spanking, Becker had been tapping his fingers against Stephen’s side while his other hand fiddled with Scrap’s fur.  Stephen was certain he didn’t realize he was doing either.  The drumming on his ribs wasn’t helping.  Stephen snickered.  “Quit poking me in the ribs, Becksy.” 

“ _Becksy_?” 

Stephen’s chortled, “Nice ring to it, dontcha think?  Very paramilitary street artist.”

“That’s Banksy.  Not Bec. . . you think you’re funny, huh _Stevie-kins_.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?  Even Nora’d be able to do better, and she’s _terrible_ at nicknames.”

“Who’s Nora?”

Stephen had assumed everyone knew about his family.  They must have talked about their families when Becker had visited him in the hospital all those times during his recovery.  Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember Becker ever having said anything about his family, either.   _Hunh_.  “My sister.  Four years older.  She lives in Berlin with her partner.  She’s the curator for the sculpture and performance art departments of one of the modern art museums there.”

“Nora short for Eleanor.”

“Yep.  She got the long straw when it came to nicknames.  My gran insisted on calling me Stevie-Jamie-love when she was in a coddling mood.  Usually meant she was going to buy us stuff, or let us do something Mum and Dad had nixed.”

Becker winced on his behalf.  “That one would’ve been a nightmare if it got out at school.”

Stephen agreed, “Don’t I know it.  Nora could be a right pain, but she wouldn’t have ever been _that_ cruel.”

“So she was cruel about some things?”

“I’m her obnoxious, tagalong younger brother.  Apparently that means I deserved it.”  Becks didn’t respond.  “I was joking.  She’s a great sister.  The only time she ever really did anything to me was when I had been doing my best to wind her up on purpose.” 

“Wouldn’t know either way.  I’m an only child.”

Stephen sensed a rat.  More like a whole nest of rats.  “No cousins?  Older school mate?  Younger one?”  Becker shook his head.  “Just you and your mum and dad then.”  Another head shake.  “Becks?”  He could’ve sworn Becker’s parents were still alive.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize they’d passed away.”

That elicited a hollow laugh, “They’re not dead.  I’m just dead to them.”  Stephen’s big brother instincts came roaring to life louder than the G-rex at the airport.  He pulled Becks to him in a ferocious hug.  “They’re fucking, bloody, sodding idiots then.  Fucking _idiots_ , you hear me?”

The next laugh was a bit less hollow, “Loud and clear.”  Becks’ voice still echoed with too much time alone and rejected.

Stephen reached up to run a hand through his brother’s hair. “Want to tell me about it?”  Becker shrugged.  “I could just keep telling you about my family instead.  Or we can talk about something else?”

“No.  I’ll tell you.  Just make sure you pass it on to the others.  I don’t want to talk about this more than once.”

“No problem.  I’ll share whatever you want me to, and keep mum about the rest.”

“Thanks.  Mum and. . . my parents were, are I guess, officers in the Navy.  We moved around a lot and they decided I needed stability so I went off to school when I was eight.”

Stephen frowned, “I thought no schools took anyone that young any more?”

“They found somewhere that’d take me.  There were only a couple of us younger boys.  We got our own room down the hall from the older grades, but no one really paid much attention when the lights were out.  Could have been worse.”  Stephen’s head was already conjuring up quite a bit to make his stomach churn; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Becks would call ‘worse.’ 

“I was really only with them between terms and during the summer.  If I was lucky, it’d be in the same place for a year or two; mostly I didn’t know where I’d be heading home to until the train tickets arrived in the mail.”

“They didn’t come get you?”

“Too busy.  Made time to get me and my stuff off at the beginning of the year and collect it all come summer when I was younger.  Soon as I graduated to being ‘one of the big boys,’. . .”

Which would have made him all of eleven? Twelve? _Jesus wept_.

“. . . They just hired someone to get me and my things to the station and gave me money to call the school to come pick me up on the other end.  They were okay when we were together.  So long as I behaved and was respectful and didn’t embarrass them.  Once I started doing CCF, they started showing up for more things.  Couldn’t make it to all of them, but they had all my citations framed and up next to their own commendations wherever they happened to be stationed.  They bragged to everyone within ear shot at work too.  I got swarmed one too many times at parties by other officers’ kids, and a fair number of enlisteds’ too, who were sick of being compared to ‘the Beckers’ perfect golden boy.’  I stopped going to parties when I was off school.  They were never much fun, anyway.” 

Becker actually smiled, “Now the cast wrap parties after strike, those were brilliant.  Didn’t matter if we did a joint production with the girls’ school or not; we were amazing.  Even the boys who would rag on us the rest of the time for being thespies always had something nice to say about our plays after they saw them. 

“The teacher who ran the drama club used to let us take over his house for the cast party.  We’d get in soda and crisps and everyone’d save up their money to buy the sugariest, saltiest, best snacks they could, and we’d get out all these games.  All sorts, not just board games.  Cards, role-playing, Pictionary, charades . . . you haven’t done charades until you’ve done it with a bunch of teenage boys out of their minds on sugar. 

“We’d be up all night making a racket.  I’ve no idea how poor Mr. Evans slept a wink upstairs with us running around like a herd of mammoths downstairs all night.  We’d crash when the sun was coming up and get kicked awake to have breakfast around teatime.  Had to spend the rest of the evening cleaning up the house until everything looked like a movie set before we could go, but none of us minded.”

Stephen grinned, “That does sound brilliant.  Did your parents ever get to see you in a play?”

Becks stiffened, “No.  I did a whole production as my senior project, picked two one-acts, on in German, one in Spanish.  I did all the research, translated them both into English, wrote this gigantic thesis on them.  I designed the sets and the lighting, held auditions, directed it.  You name it, I did it.  Got the highest marks of anyone in the school’s history.  Turned out some of the boys who had been taking the mick for years about my being part of the poetry club saw how much more went into my project than into theirs and nominated me for an achievement prize.”

“Wow.  That’s great, Becks.”

“Not enough for mum and dad.” Stephen could hear the lower-case letters.  “I got a letter saying that while they were happy that I was graduating with such high marks, given that I had chosen a ‘subject less worthy of my attention’ for my final project, they did not feel the same obligation to take time away from their careers to come to my graduation.  We had dinner and cake at the Officer’s Club when I got back, but they spent the majority of the time accepting congratulations from the other officers and their families.” 

Stephen could just see his poor brother having to sit there and make ‘happy and grateful’ noises at one ‘respected’ adult after another so his parents didn’t lose face.  If it were up to him, Becker’s parents would have lost a great deal more than a bit of social standing. 

“My grades at A levels weren’t in yet, so I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going to university.  I’d let them assume where I’d be applying to. . .” Becks pushed his face into Stephen’s chest, “When the enrollment forms came in and they found out that I’d be doing Comparative Literature., and that I wasn’t even going to do UNRU . . .  Didn’t matter that I’d signed up to do UOTC instead.  They went into my room, shut me out and packed my things for me.  Put me out on the step with my bags and said I could make my own way if that was the way I was going to choose to go with my life.  I was standing outside in the middle of the street with everyone gawking and I had to ask someone to call me a cab because they wouldn’t let me back inside to use the phone.”

Stephen was having visions of chucking two Naval officers in full dress uniform through an anomaly and listening to the screams before retrieving the blood-stained uniforms that would be the only trace. 

“I had all this money saved up to go with my troop to Edinburgh for the summer.  I had to use it to get to London and find some bed-sit to stay in until I could move into the student residences.  My mates offered to pay for me, but they were all barely scraping enough together on their own.  I didn’t want us all to act like my coming was a sure thing and include me in all the rehearsing, and then have everyone scramble to cover when I had to drop out at the last minute when we admitted we couldn’t get the money together.  I heard they were amazing, though.  They sent me a tape of it, where they dedicated every performance to me at curtain call.”  Becker wiped his eyes. 

“Sounds like you had some really good mates there.” 

His brother nodded shakily.  “They were the best.  I still see them off and on, but they only knew me as the thespy-poet who happened to do CCF.  It’s been hard for them to relate to my being in the Army.  Then I got into Special Forces and I couldn’t talk about what I was doing at all anymore.  I didn’t seem fair to them, so I just haven’t been returning their calls.” 

“How much do you know about what any of them does?  If they’re as good of mates as you said, then you ought to give them a chance to be your mates despite your job.  Besides, I’ve always wanted to meet someone who’s done the Fringe Festival.  I can’t imagine how that wouldn’t be terrifying, being up on stage with all those punters night after night.  Stronger men then I, Gunga Din.”

Becker shifted, “I’ll think about it.  Or I can introduce you to my mates from way back if you’ll introduce me to yours.”

“You’re on.  Do you still do any of that?  The poetry?”  Come to think of it, he thought he remembered Abby saying something about going to some sort of recital with Becks a while back.

“I get to as much theater as I can.  And there’s a couple open mics I like, and some salon series that showcase new local poets that’re good.  You could come sometime, if you like.”  Stephen would never have pegged Becker as shy.

“Never got much into poetry, but then I’ve really only read the stuff they make you read at school, so what do I know?  If you say it’s good, then we should check it out some night.”

Becker nodded, “If you want.  Or we could just keep on going out to watch football, if you’d rather.”

Stephen rolled his eyes.  _Did no one think of him as anything but a wilderness-jock_?  “I do want.  I’ll be expecting a decent invite in the next week.  Don’t make me track you down, Captain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Hart.”

“That’s better.  I might have to assert big brother’s prerogative and wrestle you into submission.”

“How’d you think that’d go for you?”

“Also a big brother’s prerogative to be sneaky when he puts his little brother in his place.”

“That how Nora got the better of you?”

Stephen laughed, “She’s never needed to try and be sneaky, she just is.  I gave up trying to get away years ago.  Not after she proved that my having three inches and fifty pounds on her didn’t mean jack.”

“Now there’s a story I’d like to hear.”

“Not telling.  We were both in trouble and she managed to land me in the lion’s share of it.  Gloated the entire time I was on lock-down.  She did talk Mum and Dad into letting me reschedule my walking trip for after I was done being punished though.”

“So not entirely unreasonable, your big sister.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”  _Speaking of unreasonable_ , “So you’ve got a Comparative Literature degree?”

“No.”

“Becks?”

“I know it shouldn’t have mattered, but they were the only parents I had, and I had nowhere to go, and it’s hard to make friends when everyone else on your course is. . . not shy.”

“Becks?  You seem to do okay to me.”

“I’m okay with people I get thrown in with.  That’s survival.  Approaching people just to. . . approach them, I’ve no idea.”

“Military must make it easier, then, a bit.”  _Oh hell._   Every time he thought he was on safe ground, Becks’ shit-for-an-early-life kept throwing some new landmine in his path.  “Becks?  Becker?  C’mon, Becks-puss, tell big brother Stevie-kins what’s wrong.” 

Becker let go, shoved himself as far away from Stephen as he could get, and turned over and curled back up with his back to Stephen.  Not the moment for joviality then.  _Note to self, Stephen: Not all brotherly interaction can be fixed with blokish humor_.  Scrap stood from where Becker had taken her with him into his lap, put her paws on his side and yowled at Stephen with her ears laid flat.  “I know, Scrap.  I shouldn’t have made a joke of it.” 

Stephen shivered.  Now that Becker wasn’t there to provide extra warmth, he was realizing just how cold it had gotten.  “You can be angry with me as much as you want, but we don’t know how long we’re going to be up here, and it’s too cold to be alone.” 

Stephen rolled over onto his side and aggressively wormed his way between the branch on his side of their ‘trough’ and his friend’s back.  He refrained from saying a thing about big brother’s right to be the big spoon as he did his best to wrap his arms around Becker from behind and cuddle up to his rigid back.  Unfortunately, there really wasn’t enough room, and Stephen was barely keeping them both from tipping over opposite sides of the trough onto the branches below.  Becker grabbed his arm, shoved him hard back into their shared perch and flipped himself over to land on Stephen’s chest.  Becker proceeded to do what Stephen could only call pummel him into submission for a resumed cuddle.  He did his best to go with it with grace and dignity, and a minimum of pained grunts.  His sore bottom did not appreciate any of the movement it was being subjected to.  Stephen had to take a few breaths to settle himself once he and Becker were back in their previous positions. 

Stephen closed his prickling eyes on one last exhale as he heard, “I got through my first year, and then I signed up for Sandhurst that summer.  Turns out, I was ‘the golden boy’ there too, only this time it was my CCF commanders and the CO of my UOTC. unit who had been crowing.  I’m good if you give me something to do, something to be in charge of; try and get me to ‘relax and make friends’. . . turned out to be like school, only there was only one clique, and I wasn’t in it.  I had a teacher who took a shine to me, mentored me a bit.  But the more time I spent with him, the less I spent with the other cadets.”

Becker took a deep breath, “I had them send my parents a letter when I started at Sandhurst.  They were Navy.  I’d gone Army.  Turns out I could be the perfect military son all I wanted; if I wasn’t Navy, I shouldn’t have bothered.  They sent me a notarized letter declaring me dead to them.  I got it four weeks in.  Couldn’t take it back once I’d signed up, so I made the best of it in the Army, and here we are.” 

Stephen had no idea what to say to that.  Of all the petty, stupid things to disown your only child for . . .  by _notarized letter. **Jesus fucking Christ bloody wept**_. Threatening to kill Becks’ parents didn’t seem adequate anymore.  Stephen doubted that expressing his murderous thoughts out loud would help.  He’d already put his foot in his mouth.  Stephen did his best without words this time.  He scooted down as far as he could, wrapped himself arms and legs around his brother and hugged like he could squeeze every last bit of rejection and unloving-unkindness out of their Becks.  Stephen rocked them both together in their tree and willed his love to warm his wounded brother’s heart.  Scrap did her part and purred her heart out.  Becker brought his arms up and returned the hug, laid his head on Stephen’s chest and let his big brother take his weight.  He took his time.  “Your parents know what you do?”

Stephen nodded against the top of Becker’s head, “They know I consult with the government.  Can’t remember what exactly Lester told them it is we do.”

“Not a good idea to forget your cover story, Ha . . . Stephen.”

“I’ll look it up when we get back.  Anyway, you know I’ve always been into environmental advocacy.”

“There were a couple interesting entries in your file.”

“I would say I was a naïve youth and I regret it, but I totally don’t.  Mum and Dad were quite chuffed as well.  Not that I got arrested, but they were very proud I stood up for my principles.  Although I apparently could have avoided being nicked if I’d just shown some common sense in planning.  The police are supposedly very predictable and therefore easy to evade.  According to my Uncle Morty.” Becks emitted an incredulous snort. 

“He’s actually my great uncle.  Mum’s father’s brother.  He died right after I signed on with Cutter and left Mum and Dad some ridiculous amount of cash.  They retired early and moved to an eco-development on Gran Canaria.  Been there ever since.  Nick and I stopped off to visit them a couple times on our way to and from expeditions in Africa and Australia.  I try and get out there at least once a year.  We usually meet in between at Nora’s in Berlin whenever she and I can get time off.  We all save birthday and Christmas presents and the like for when we see each other next.”

“So it’s just you at the holidays?”

“Cutter usually has me for dinner, but he’s got his own appearances to make up in Scotland, and I never wanted to impose.”

“So you lied.”

“I let him assume some things that may have not been completely accurate.”

“You lied.  I’m teeellliiiiing.”

“Go ahead.  I’ll drag you right down into the Scottish Holiday Mess with me.  And then I will plot sweet, sweet revenge.  For when you least expect it, oh little brother-mine.”

“I didn’t lie.  That makes me the good one.  The good ones get fussed over while the _liars_ are off in the back, getting what’s coming to them.”

“They’d make a fuss of you whether you were good or not, from what Nick’s said about them.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll stick by and make sure they don’t smother you but you’ve got to promise to let them be nice to you.”

“I’m not going to be _rude_.  And it’s not like either of us has been invited to meet anyone.”

“If I thought no one was going to invite me, why’d I lie to Nick about being alone for the holidays?”

“Them or Nick?”

“Both, I think.  Or Nick would have dragged me along anyway or stayed behind to keep me company.”

“I can see why you lied.  I won’t tattle.”

“You really think either of us is going to have an option with Connor and Abby in the mix?”

“Ah.  May be better to confess yourself, then.  Or I could rat you out.”  _Stephen might just let him if he sounded that gleeful about it_. 

“Just remember that turnabout is fair play, Becks-puss.”

“ _RRRrrrrhhhmmmm_. . .”  Stephen laughed into the purring ‘Puss’s hair.  There was a flash of lights from the road.  Both men levered themselves up and craned their necks to peer out over the dark water.  The lights flashed again, higher up and farther away and receded around the bend of the road up on the hill.

Stephen groaned, “I really, _really_ wish you hadn’t left your mobile in the car.  Or turned it off.”

“I _know_.  Not happy about that, either.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CCF is the Combined Cadet Force, a youth organization run by the UK military in schools. For more info, see the CCF website: http://combinedcadetforce.org.uk/
> 
> Strike refers to the act of 'striking the set' after a theater performance where the set is taken apart, certain parts are stored for later use and others are discarded. In amateur secondary school productions, strike is often done by the entire cast on the day after the final performance or shortly thereafter.
> 
> URNU is an acronym for the University Royal Naval Unit, a university-based training program offered by the British Royal Navy. Unlike the ROTC in the US, URNU Midshipmen are not obligated to join the Royal Navy and they can leave the program at any time. For more info see the Royal Navy website: http://www.royalnavy.mod.uk/news-and-latest-activity/operations/uk-home-waters/university-training
> 
> UOTC is the University Officers' Training Corps, a university-based military leadership training course offered at by the British Army Reserves. Officer Cadets are under no obligation to join the Army when they finish their training. For more information, see the British Army website: http://www.army.mod.uk/UOTC/28464.aspx
> 
> Sandhurst refers to the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, the center where all British Army officers receive their initial training leading up to a commission in the British Army. For more info see the British Army website: http://www.army.mod.uk/training_education/24475.aspx


	4. Safe and Sound of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family to the rescue.

Becker met Stephen’s eyes as they settled back down, “You didn’t finish your story.  How was Cutter - Nick - with the next part?”

Stephen closed his eyes.  He guessed the only way to tell this part was just to say it.  Becks had already noticed he was unusually sore.  “It wasn’t quite over yet . . .”         

 

**_Nick’s House, the Previous Thursday_ **

It took Stephen several minutes for the lack of spanking to register as he lay bawling into the wet duvet.  At some point Nick had pulled his boxers back up.  Some part of Stephen was sure that he’d made a complete fool of himself fighting hard against a spanking he had agreed he deserved.  Nick was rubbing his back, but he couldn’t seem to stop crying.  He pushed his face into the duvet and knuckled miserably at his eyes.  He felt small and lost and wretched and he just _could not_ stop crying.  “Nick, don’t deserve . . .” 

His gasp sucked in the yelp before  he could make it as he was suddenly hauled up against Nick’s chest.  His knees hit the floor between Nick’s knees.  The Scot’s sharp voice asserted, “You most certainly do deserve my care and my love, and more besides.  Whatever’s gotten tangled up in your head, it had better not have anything to do with why you went without a spotter this afternoon.” 

Nick held Stephen close and continued to rub his back.  Stephen had no idea if how he felt had played into what he’d done or not.  He just felt _bad_.  “Didn’ think, don’ deserve, don’. . . don’ stop, Nick. . .” Stephen could barely talk for his tears, “Ni-Nic-Nick, I don’, no. . . more, I wasn’ good enough . . .” 

Nick just gripped him harder.  “Oh, Stephen.  Don’t do this to yourself.” 

Stephen felt like he was drunk, “Noooo, shouldn’t’ve, shoulda been be-better, sorry’s for better, I don’, I didn’. . . _Nick_. . .” 

“Alright, Stephen.”  Nick pulled away from him, pushed Stephen back, put a hand under Stephen’s quivering chin and forced him to meet Nick’s gaze. “ ** _Stephen_**.”  Stephen hiccupped, silent with surprise.  That was not the horribly sympathetic tone he’d been expecting. 

“That is enough of that, my lad.  Yes, you’ve got some things to be sorry for.  You _do_ deserve to pay for your mistakes, you _do_ deserve to be forgiven, you _do_ deserve for me to love you, and you _do_ deserve to say sorry while I smack your naughty bottom.”  Stephen wrinkled his nose.  “Oh, aye.  You _are_ being _naughty,_ Stephen.  ‘Tis _naughty_ of you to think you get to decide when you’re forgiven, and _naughtier_ still to think you can sit there and tell me whether I should be loving you or no’.  _Naughty_ lads hold onto their guilt after they’ve been punished, _naughty_ lads fight being loved, _naughty_ lads don’t let themselves say sorry, and I know one _naughty, naughty_ Stephen who is going to be saying sorry while someone who loves him very, very much smacks his _naughty_ bum!” 

Stephen whimpered, “Sorry . . .”

“You keep right on saying it, Stephen.  I won’t have you hurting yourself by not saying sorry.”  Nick somehow managed to get the larger Stephen back down over his knees in a blink.  He pushed his shirt up and shoved his underpants back down his legs.  Nick pinned Stephen’s thighs hard between his own and none-too-gently pulled his wrist against his side, pressing down hard with his forearm across Stephen’s back.  “What do you have to say about your naughtiness, Stephen?”

“Sorry.  Sorry, Nick.  Please, I’m sorry. . .” 

“Aye.  That’s right.  You tell me how sorry you are for being so naughty.”  Nick raised his hand and resumed heating his adopted nephew’s bum.  If Stephen needed to say sorry, then Nick was going to make sure he felt like he had due impetus to say it.  After only one round of firm spanks, Nick switched tactics.  He kept his swats confined to light love taps, just hard enough and stingy enough to be more than affectionate pats.  He was not going to run the risk of having to stop too soon.  They’d work on instilling some more self-worth into his friend once he’d smacked every last sorry piece of self-doubt in Stephen’s head into silence.  Nick focused all his attention and care down onto the quaking, miserable man in his lap and listened to Stephen blub in tune to the pitter-pat of his palm.

After a while, Stephen’s voice trailed off into a grizzling continuous whine.  Nick was not about to let him float off into his head with whatever nasty thoughts had tangled his charge up in the first place.  Nick abandoned the love-taps and raised his hand to begin landing true, full smacks in a deliberate rhythm.  “Why am I smacking you, Stephen James?”  Stephen gave a bewildered shrilling whimper.  “You can do better than that.  Why are you over my knee, saying sorry?”  He resisted the urge to press and simply kept smacking at what he hoped translated as an inexorable pace. 

Stephen’s whimpers increased until he stuttered out, “W-was naugh-naught-tyyy,” before breaking into fresh tears.

“Very naughty, that’s right.  Naughtiness will not be tolerated.  Now, what does our naughty Stephen have to say?” 

“Soorrryyyy . . .”

Nick spanked a bit longer to make sure that Stephen stayed aware that his supposed misdeeds were being dealt with and then resumed the caring love taps, doing his best to ease the stubborn grip of the darkness Stephen was hoarding to his heart.  Stephen’s second trip over Nick’s knee lasted a truly substantial amount of time.  His bum was roasted with loving care, light and long.  Nick used his voice and hard, solid palm to pull Stephen back from the brink of self-recrimination twice more.  Stephen’s voice liberally marinated the whole process, from plaintive sorries to copious, wretched tears.  When Nick turned him right-side-up for the second time, Stephen wrapped his arms around his best friend and uncle-by-choice, and soaked up every last drop of comfort. 

 

 

**_Back in the Tree_ **

“You are officially insane.  I understand you felt bad about how things went in the past, but you don’t fix it by _asking to be smacked more_.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to ask for more.  I wasn’t exactly in control of what I was saying right then.”

“It certainly didn’t sound like it.”

“Shut it, you.”

 “You’ll notice I am considerately not asking about Nick’s choice of words.”

“He was being kind.”

“You are completely, certifiably crackers.”

“Takes one to know one,” Stephen poked Becker in the ribs and kept poking as his brother tried to squirm as far away as their tight perch would allow.

“It’s a statement of fact!  You can’t go after me for that.  Geroff!  Ow, stoppit already!”

“You have a very subjective idea of what counts as a ‘fact.’  But since you were being _considerate_ ,” Stephen quit poking and mussed Becks’ hair with both hands.  With a final tug, he lowered his arms to resume their hug. 

Becker tilted his head back so he could give Stephen the stink-eye.  “The only reason I’m not tickling you back is because I’m too comfortable.  Make no mistake, King of Thieves, I’m holding my fingers in reserve, and they will be deployed along your unprotected ribs at the first opportunity.”

Stephen grinned. “Big brother’s prerogative.  Don’t assume I’ll be so easy to get the drop on.  I  never said I didn’t learn anything from Nora over the years.”

“I’ll just have to arrange to meet her and get all sorts of tips on tormenting her little brother.  Big sister’s prerogative and all that.”

“’The big sister of my big brother is my accomplice?’  Very strategic of you.”

“Sun Tzu had a lot to say about domestic situations.”

“There is no domestic section of The Art of War.”

“It’s not well known.”

“Like I said, you have an interesting idea of ‘facts’.”

Becker hunched his shoulders, then forced himself to relax into an exaggerated slump.  “Well, now I know why you’re still squirming when you sit.  You said you thought Nick was being kind?”

Stephen nodded, “I was worked up and I wasn’t thinking straight.  If Nick’d agreed with me and made it as big of a deal as it was in my head, I would have gone completely ‘round the twist.  Using that word . . .”

“Naughty.”

“. . . Yes, _that_ word.  Using it was Nick’s way of taking me seriously without helping me blow it all out of proportion.  Saying it was naughty . . .” Stephen blushed.

“He was saying he’d deal with it, but it wasn’t the huge, horrible thing you were making it out to be.  Just a bit of trouble you’d got into with your family.”

“Hadn’t thought of it that way, as a family word.  Anyone ever tell you you’re very insightful, Becks?”

“No.”

“Well you are.  And you’ll do just fine with Nick.  I’ve known him most of my adult life, and I can promise you that.  He can be a surly bastard, but he’ll do his damnedest to do right by us.”

“I’m beginning to get that.”

“Good.”  Stephen yawned. “I really wish they’d hurry up and come find us already.”

Becker raised up on his elbow and craned his neck to see if he could spot the crocodile below them.  “If they’re not here by the morning and that thing’s still down there, we’re going to have to figure out a Plan B.”

“Right now we need a plan to keep each other awake.”  Stephen yawned again.  And again.  Becker was infected by it, and yawned himself.  “We could sing something.”

Becker snorted, “Why not.  I assume you can carry a tune?”

“I was in the choir at my primary school.  C of E.  We sang at one service a month during term time.  You?”

“I’m decent, but nothing to write home about.”

“At least we know we won’t offend the croc’s sensitive ears.”

Becker smirked. “If we did, d’you think it’d decide to swim away and leave us in peace?”

Stephen laughed.  “How about. . .  I know a song that’ll get on your nerves, get on your nerves, get on your nerves, I know a song. . .”

Becks joined in, snickering, “That’ll get on your nerves, get, get, get on your nerves. . .”  They made it through three rounds at increasing volume before their voices petered out amid chortles. 

Stephen cut his eyes to Scrap and smiled, “All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small. . .” 

They made it through four more songs before falling silent, thanks to Scrap’s abrupt decision to get some exercise by making a mad dash up the tree, back down and across their laps and up the opposite trunk at speed.  The feline triathlon of arboreal sprinting, branch hurdles and tail chasing continued for ten minutes.  It was the source of quite a few claw-related puncture wounds for both men.  Luckily, none of the injuries were in sensitive regions.  Once the kitten had expended some energy, she took her sweet time tromping in circles over her human pillows, treading out the perfect spot to curl up in and snooze.  Stephen and Becker stared at the purring bundle finally resettled into stillness, and looked up to meet each other’s’ eyes.  They both yawned hugely in tandem.  “We could play I-Spy.”

“There’s nothing to spy.  You could finish your story.  Or we could play Twenty Questions.”

“All your questions would be about me getting spanked.”

Becker shook his head, “I have more than a one-track mind.  You can ask the questions first.”

Stephen nodded, “Okay then.  Animal, vegetable or mineral?”

“Mineral.”

“Hunh.  So, an object, then?”

“Yes.”

“Is it bigger than a breadbox?”

“No.”

Stephen made it all the way to twenty questions without guessing that Becker was thinking of a knife sharpener.  Then he turned the tables and managed to stump Becks with a Venus fly trap.  They played five more rounds, with the final score being Stephen’s two successful guesses to Becker’s one, and two rounds where twenty questions were reached.  The sun had set at least two hours ago by then, and both men were feeling the aches and pains of spending too long in one position.  They stretched carefully, and swapped positions so that Becker was now cradling Stephen against his chest while his older brother gratefully took a load off his sore posterior. 

They had been settled in their new arrangement for about ten minutes when the flash of headlights brought their attention to the road.  Those headlights were joined by a second set, and the brothers heard the sound of doors slamming. Nick and Connor and Abby had arrived.  Torches were turned on and swept over the water.  Stephen untangled himself from Becker and eased upright into an awkward kneeling position. “We’re up here!”

Connor cupped his hands and shouted, “You two alright?”

Becker shouted in reply, “Fine.  There’s a crocodile over here.”

“What?”

Stephen joined in. “Crocodile.  Couple meters long.”

With the headlights and torches on, Becker and Stephen could see what was happening by the cars.  There was a large boat strapped into the bed of the HiLux.  Their rescuers unloaded the boat, pushed it down to the edge of the debris-made lake, climbed in, and loaded up with gear.  Stephen and Becker were relieved to see the silhouettes of several guns.  The bloody crocodile was still down there. 

Abby and Cutter loaded the guns, and Connor started the outboard motor.  The search light mounted onto the front of the boat turned on.  The boat slowly came toward the treed men, Cutter standing braced in the bow with his gun aimed at the water.  He must have spotted the croc, since he fired off a round of shots into the water near the base of the tree.  There was sudden thrashing, and then the croc turned away from the oak and swam back toward the opposite bank to get away from the sudden, confusing onslaught.  Nick kept firing at its retreating tail as Abby joined in.  Within a minute, the creature that had menaced them for hours on end was retreating into the bushes.  The boat motored up to the bottom of the tree.  Abby peered up at them. “Any other escaped animals we need to worry about?”

 Stephen shook his head, “No, it was already out here when Becks got here, and then it stayed when the water came.  We haven’t seen anything else.”

“Probably everything else ran for cover,” Connor surmised.

Becker and Stephen climbed out of their hollow and down to sit on a sturdy branch looking down into the boat . . . in the bow of which stood Nick Cutter, with a deadly glare that should have bored holes right through them.  Stephen heard himself gulp as Becks swallowed audibly beside him.  Rescue was looking very much less welcome.  Maybe they should just stay up here in the tree for a while longer.  Their team leader turned behind him and took a thick rope from Connor. “I’m going to throw this up.  There’s a ladder attached.  You can pull it up once you catch it.”

Stephen nodded. “Got it.”  He and Becker shifted up into crouches and got ready to catch.  Cutter flung the rope right to them.  They hauled up the ladder and stood to put the metal hooks at the top over a large branch above them.  They pulled down in unison to test if it would hold their weight.  Stephen and Becker looked down into Nick’s tight face and Connor and Abby’s anxious ones behind him, and then looked at each other.  Stephen reached up to steady the ladder. “You go first.” 

Becker paused, then squared his shoulders and swung himself over onto the ladder.  Stephen watched him climb down to the boat, to be helped inside by Nick and passed back to Connor and Abby.  Stephen met Cutter’s eyes and climbed down himself.  Once he was almost touching the water, he felt Nick’s hands on his waist, guiding him to step back and down into the boat.  Nick steadied him as he let go of the ladder, pulling him so he was balanced firmly inside the inflated craft.  Nick gently pushed him farther into the boat toward Connor’s outstretched hand.  Stephen took the hand and crawled to sit beside Becks in the center of the boat.  Behind him, he heard several clangs and then a splash as Nick retrieved the ladder.  “Connor, get us back to shore.”

Nick busied himself stowing the ladder away for the short trip to the opposite bank.  Connor and Abby hopped out and pulled the boat up out of the water before giving their three family members hands out.  Nick was the last one out.  “Abby, go call and report the crocodile to the local authorities.  It probably escaped from a private zoo.  Stephen and Becker, is either of you hurt?”  They both shook their heads.  “No cuts or scrapes, no bruises?” 

“We got wet getting up into the tree, and we both banged ourselves up a bit.”

Becker nodded. “Grazed against the bark.  But I don’t think anything actually broke the skin.”

 “Get your extra clothes out of your cars and get changed.  I’ll look you over for anything that needs doctoring.” Cutter gestured toward the rear of Becker’s car where the back hatch was already raised. 

Becker was shrugging out of his jacket when he froze. “Scrap!  I can’t believe we forgot!”

“Ah!” Connor’s shout drew them all to look at him and the kitten attached with grim determination to his sleeve.  “Bloody hell, you could’ve warned me there was a cat!  Ow!  Those claws are sharp, try not to dig in so hard, mate.”  Abby came over to gently prize each tiny claw out of Connor’s jacket one by one while Connor made cooing noises at the kitten.  Once she was free, Abby passed the kitten back to Connor, who was only too happy to cradle her in his arms and fuss over her.  Connor looked up at his older brothers, “You named it Scrap?”

“It’s a her.  She took on that crocodile all by herself.”

Stephen nodded. “Scrappy little thing.”

Connor grinned. “’S’good name.  Hello there, Miss Scrap, have you been keeping my brothers safe up in that big tree all this time?”

Cutter snorted.  “I’m sure they’ll let you have visiting rights, lad.”  He turned his back on Connor’s unintelligible protest, and approached Stephen and Becker at the back of the car.  “Let’s have a look at you.” 

Nick ran his hands lightly over each of their torsos as they pulled off their shirts, then dropped down to examine their lower halves just as closely when their trousers came off.  As they’d told him, there were a couple bumps and bruises and a few scrapes, but nothing worse.  Nick pulled antiseptic wipes and plasters out of the first aid kit, and silently maneuvered his charges this way and that so he could doctor each area of abraded skin, before standing back to let the shivering pair pull on dry clothes. 

Abby appeared behind Nick with blankets from the trunk of the Mini Cooper, and Nick passed them on for Stephen and Becks to wrap around themselves. “The police said they’re on their way with the local game wardens.”

 Connor approached, and handed Scrap into Stephen’s outstretched hands.  Stephen set her down behind him in the back seat, and she seemed content to explore for the time being.  Nick stood back and crossed his arms.  “While we’re waiting for the wardens, you two can tell us what happened.  The last we heard, you had gone out for drinks last night.”

Stephen didn’t even glance at his brother. “Becker came out here this morning on his own to check on a potential creature sighting.  _After_ he’d turned his phone off so it wouldn’t hurt his head by ringing.”  He could feel Becker staring at him in astonishment.  He couldn't care less. 

“And then he kept it turned off, and called me from the telephone booth over there instead, when his car got stuck in the mud.  Didn’t mention a creature on the loose at all.  Or that there was a flood watch on for the area.  Or that he’d meant to dial the AA instead, and just called me on autopilot because he couldn’t see the keypad with the sun in his eyes.”  Nick’s deadly glare had resumed and was squarely fixed on Becks, to Stephen’s satisfaction.  Connor and Abby were staring incredulously from behind Nick. 

“He was trying to corral Scrap when I got here; the crocodile came out of the bushes by the tree, and then this huge wave of water came down the riverbed, and we had to go up the tree so we didn’t get swept away.  The croc stayed swimming circles around the tree, so we couldn’t get down until you showed up.” 

Abby stared at Stephen. “Why didn’t you call us?”

Stephen sighed. “I dropped my phone while we were getting into the tree.  For all I know, the crocodile ate it.”

Becker had started out doing his best to sit at parade rest and stare straight ahead during Stephen’s recitation, but he hadn’t been able to keep it up under Nick’s glare, and was now slouched under his blanket, staring at his lap.  When he looked up, it was to Connor and Abby. “How did you find us?”

Connor slid past Nick and wrapped himself around Becker. “I tried to call you to see if you wanted to do something Monday, since it’s a Bank Holiday.  I couldn’t get you to pick up, so I tried Stephen, and he wasn’t answering, either.  Even when I kept calling you both over and over.  So I called Nick, and he tried.  When he couldn’t get you, he told me to check the GPS on your phones, and I couldn’t get that to work, either.”

Abby came up and wrapped herself around Stephen. “We didn’t even know if you’d made it back safe from the pub last night.  You could’ve been lying in some alley, beaten to death or choking on your own vomit . . .” She buried her head in Stephen’s chest. 

Cutter placed a comforting hand on Abby’s back, and extended one to Connor’s shoulder as well. “Connor said the only way the GPS wouldn’t come up was if your phones were off.  I didn’t want to cause a panic if you two had just gotten drunk and turned them off and forgotten to turn them back on.  So I asked Connor if there was any other way to trace them.”

Connor backed away from Becker to stand by Nick. “You can turn phones on remotely.  Better if you don’t know how I know that.  So I tried, and I couldn’t get Stephen’s.  Becks’ worked, but it went straight to voicemail.”  Becker smiled a wan apology in his family’s direction.  “But I could see where you were, so we came out.”

“And the boat?” Stephen was curious.

Abby stepped back, “When we heard there was a flood watch on up here, we figured it was better safe than sorry.  We stopped and got one from the first boat hire place we saw.”

Cutter wiped a weary hand over his face, “I couldn’t imagine what you two could be doing out here, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and not call in the cavalry until we had an idea of what had happened.”  He put his hands on his hips, “Considering that you could have been attacked by a crocodile or some creature, or swept away in the flood, I don’t think that was the best call.  You disappear again, we’ll be coming after you with a full contingent of MACOs.  Not to mention Search and Rescue.”

Becker sighed, “Duly noted.”

“It had better be.  That goes for all of us.  You can’t be reached, we’re assuming the worst until proven otherwise.”

“That could be embarrassing,” Abby grimaced.

“Then you should make sure you keep your mobile on.”

Connor, Abby and Stephen nodded and chorused, “Duly noted.”  Becker ducked his head to hide his smile.

Becker cleared his throat. “About this. . .”

Cutter crossed his arms. “Take a wild guess.”

“I’m getting smacked.”

“Got it in one.”

“Good.”  Becker blinked at Abby’s betrayal.

Stephen was unsympathetic, “You do the crime, you do the over-the-knee time.”

“Same as the rest of us,” Connor chimed in.

“I _know_ , Temple.  You can stop rubbing my face in it.”

“You _asked_.”

“I didn’t ask _you_.”

“We thought you might be dead, you stupid git!”  Connor started forward like he was planning on pounding his point into his older brother by force, if necessary.

Stephen moved to intercept him, while Nick advanced on Becker.  “You can thump him with me later, Conn.  Let Nick handle it for now.”

Nick moved so that he was blocking Becker’s view of his siblings. “Do not take this out on Connor.  He’s not your personal whipping boy.  We expect better from you, Becker.”  Becks flinched.

“I’m sorry, Connor.  I was out of line.”  Connor nodded, but didn’t reply.  Becker closed his eyes.  The sound of approaching tires turned their attention to the road behind them. 

As the local police got out of their cars, Nick divvied up tasks, “Stephen, you can take Becker back in your car, and I’ll take the HiLux.  Connor, can you drive Becker’s car back to his place?  If Abby follows you in the Mini, you should get home alright from there.”  Everyone nodded their assent.  “Good.  Stephen and Becker, I’ll see you at mine, then.  You two, have a good night and I’ll call you some time tomorrow.”  He pulled Connor and Abby into a quick hug each. “Be careful and drive safely.” 

Becker handed Connor his keys, and turned to retrieve Scrap from the back seat.  The remaining family members turned toward their respective vehicles.  Stephen took his own key out, and waved Nick over to get the key to the HiLux so he could retrieve a pet carrier from the back.  With portable cage in hand, he caught Nick’s eye and indicated that he was leaving the key in the ignition.  Seeing Nick’s nod of acknowledgement, he returned to his car, collected Scrap from Becker, and tucked her into the carrier with his old shirt.  He really hoped she wasn’t one of those cats that yowled non-stop whenever they were subjected to the torture of the carrier.  Apparently, she’d worn herself out exploring, because she settled down on Stephen’s shirt and lay there with eyes squinted in semi-conscious contentment.  Stephen climbed into the driver’s seat, accepted the keys from Becker. and pulled out.


	5. Miles to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becker wants a neat, tidy ending to Stephen’s story.

They drove for several minutes in silence.  Stephen reached to turn on the radio, but couldn’t find a station that wasn’t half  static.  Becker couldn’t quite pull off nonchalant. “Going to finish your story?”

Stephen considered. “You’re really into my giving you all the details.” 

Becker shrugged. “I like neat, tidy endings.  Don’t get too many of those in real life.”

“Okay, well, Nick finally thought I’d said sorry enough . . .”

 

**_Nick’s House, the Previous Thursday_ **

 

Wincing internally at the state of poor Stephen’s bottom, Nick released his shaking friend and did his very best to ease his shorts back into place as gently as possible.  He turned Stephen carefully into his chest, and wrapped him up in his arms as well as he knew how.  Stephen curled into himself and slumped against Nick, dead weight even with his knees supporting him on the floor, and dead to anything other than his own tears.  Nick held and rocked and hummed soothingly, giving Stephen some time to settle.  His friend had been physically exhausted before they had started in on his punishment, and he had to be beyond exhausted in all possible ways now.  Nick didn’t want to let him go, but he knew that Stephen needed a long cuddle and was not going to get one in their current position.  Nick eased back and guided Stephen onto his side on the bed.  He quickly divested Stephen of his boots and trousers, lifting his legs so that his whole body lay in an insensate heap on the mattress.  Nick eyed the space between the edge of the mattress and Stephen, and crossed to the far side, toeing off his own shoes as he went.  He climbed onto the bed and crawled to Stephen’s back.  Nick knelt up, took Stephen’s shoulder and hip in his hands and hauled him over to face Nick.  He stroked Stephen’s arm soothingly. “Just a moment more . . .”

Nick grabbed the edge of the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, lay down facing Stephen, and pulled his honorary nephew to him, wrapping arms and legs around to engulf Stephen in a solid wall of cuddle, and drew the blanket up over them both.  “I love you so much, Stephen.  Let’s just lay here and have a good cuddle, yeah?”  Not five minutes later, Stephen was sound asleep with his nose buried against Nick’s neck.

Stephen’s mind swam to the surface of consciousness through a groggy fog.  As he became fully alert, Stephen kept his eyes closed, enjoyed the feeling of nesting together with Nick under the blanket, and took his time working through his memories of his first spanking.  His first spanking and then his second, or was that first and an extension?  Regardless, even without moving, Stephen could tell that his bottom was deeply sore, and that he was most definitely significantly more sore than he’d been when Nick had stopped spanking the first time.  Stephen groaned.  _What had he been thinking, all but outright asking for more like that_?  Nick cuddled him closer and pulled him in with a leg hooked over his hip. “Alright, Stephen?”

“Not sure.”  Stephen blinked hard.  He felt hollowed out.  His inner monologue was quiet; the constant worry and vigilance he was used had retreated.  Stephen really wasn’t sure what was going to go in its place.  It had been a long time since he’d had to think about relating to others in ways that were not solely protective, of himself and of them.  “You’ve got a hard hand, and you don’t half commit.”  And apparently talking about being spanked was a sure way to bring tears surging back. “Oooohh.”

Nick tightened his grip and rocked them both side to side. “I’ve got you.  I love you and I forgive you.  It’s over and done with; we’ll stay right here as long as you need.”

Stephen was confused; he felt much calmer and more settled by far than he had since before he’d walked into the ARC gym alone to bury himself in exercise.  He was also shaky with vulnerability, his emotions wide open.  He took refuge in complaining, “Didn’t have to keep on for so long the second time.”

“Mmhmm, I wasn’t going to do wrong by you by stopping too soon.”  Nick sighed. “Maybe I should’ve left it for us to talk out, but you were so upset. . .”  Nick leaned his cheek against Stephen’s hair and rubbed his back. “I couldn’t just leave you like that.  You needed a push at the beginning to give me control.  I thought you needed another to let it go.  There’s not much point in any of this if, at the end, you can’t forgive yourself.”

Stephen shook his head. “You did fine.  I’m the one who got in the way of things with my stupid issues. . .”  He pushed away from Nick, levered himself up . . . and then his bum hit the mattress, and it _hurt_.  “Aaaahhhh,” Stephen collapsed into sobs as scorched skin broke through the veneer of ‘reasonable, dignified adult’ he’d been reaching for. 

Nick must have pulled a pillow down to rest his head on at some point because he rolled over onto his back and brought Stephen with him, towing him over to lie with his ear over Nick’s heart.  The blanket was scrunched up off to the side, and neither man gave it a second glance.  Stephen wrapped his arms around Nick, pushed his face into the solid chest, and cried big, overwrought, genuine tears that had nothing to do with anything other than his very well-spanked bum.

It felt wonderful to feel Nick’s loving arms holding him and hear his friend’s voice crooning comfort that was all directed at Stephen.  He’d been on the outside, taking slight, vicarious sips of comfort from Nick’s care of others.  Now he was the focus and center of all of Nick’s caring, loving reassurance, and it felt stupendous.  Stephen clung to Nick and finally, finally, after so, so many years, believed Nick loved him, cared for him, and was there for him, no matter what, and nothing would change that - not Helen, nor anything Stephen could say or do.  Stephen let go and _keened_ into Nick’s chest.  Nick cuddled and crooned and confirmed over and over his love, his forgiveness, his devotion, and most of all his love, because it bore repeating. 

After a long while, Stephen’s tears stuttered to a stop, and he croaked, “Thought Connor was the only one who got to hear all that . . .”

“You thought wrong.  Daft git,” Nick tugged Stephen’s ear gently.  “If there’s anyone I’m going to say it to, it’s you.  Been keeping it to myself for too many years already.”

Stephen remembered Connor in the aftermath, secure to joke and insist on the comfort he deserved and having it the way he wanted it.  Stephen couldn’t even form a joke in his head right now.  He’d spent years bantering with Nick, hiding his feelings under the ‘manly’ role of the strong, silent type.  Now that he’d given it up and put himself into Nick’s hands, and under them, Stephen had no signposts to tell where to go in this moment.  This was one area where there could be gigantic, perfectly defined footprints right under his nose and he still wouldn’t be able to pick up a trail to follow.  The relief was _terrifying_.

Stephen was starting to hyperventilate.  He forced himself to breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth.  Nick paused, and Stephen braced himself for whatever was about to come out of the Scot’s mouth . . . 

Nick grabbed the blanket.  He shook it out one-handed, and tossed it over to lay beside them.  Nick rolled Stephen off of him and onto the blanket on his side, pulled the blanket up around Stephen from behind, and laid himself down while tossing the blanket over his own shoulder.  Wrapped firmly in a blanket cocoon, Nick engulfed Stephen in his arms and hummed a snuggling tune. 

Stephen gave up on trying to reason things out, and slumped into Nick’s embrace, letting himself just feel, warm and safe from the expectations of the world.  And from himself.  He had a vague notion that he ought to be in tears again, but he had none left.  Stephen slid away from that thought, and focused on huddling close to Nick and accepting the moment for what it was: pure, loving, genuine, unabashed care, given with no conditions attached and no expiration date.  Stephen gripped onto Nick, and Nick slowly held him tighter and tighter until he had Stephen plastered inside his arms, eased into soaking up much-needed affection and forgiveness.  Nick’s shirt was wet; Stephen had no idea why that was.  A Scottish voice began to sing quietly in his ear, and Stephen slipped full into the moment and shuddered with emotion unnamed.  Nick didn’t let go.

It was forever and a day before Stephen came to a place where he felt content and cuddled enough to brave whatever the next part would be.  “Nick?”

“Yes?”

“I . . .” _I’m sorry_ didn’t seem right; he’d already said it so much today.

“Ready for some soothing?”

“Uh. . .”

“Ice and lotion?” Nick prompted gently.

“Yes?  I. . . okay.”  _God, when did he get so unsure_?  A well-spanked Stephen Hart was apparently also an uncertain and tentative Stephen Hart.  Once again, Stephen found himself with increased and renewed respect for Connor.  His younger brother was much more emotionally mature than they’d all been giving him credit for.

“Alright.  Here, you have the pillow. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”  Nick slid away and gently tucked the blanket around Stephen as he left the bed.  Stephen followed Connor’s example and latched onto the pillow, crumpling it under his chin with one hand and using the other to hold the blanket close to him, preserving the warm hollow inside his cylindrical nest.  Stephen was the kind of exhausted where it was difficult to relax and settle to rest, but he did his best to lie pliant and willing to be soothed.  Nick’s footsteps heralded the arrival of that soothing.

Stephen whole-heartedly preferred these footsteps to the earlier knell of impending discovery contained in Nick’s audible approach to his hiding place at the ARC.  Nick jostled the bed as he sat down beside Stephen, “Here, lift up a bit.” 

Nick tugged the lower corner of blanket out from under Stephen and carefully folded it back to expose his bum.  With a murmured warning, Nick took the waistband of Stephen’s shorts in his hands and slid them down to his friend’s knees.  He clucked sympathetically at the sight of Stephen’s posterior. 

Stephen pushed his face into the pillow and growled, “You’re the one who made it that way.  I wasn’t that bad.”  He opened his mouth to say more and gasped as cool fabric impacted heated skin. 

Nick rested a hand in the dip of Stephen’s back. “You weren’t bad.  You made some mistakes.  They were mistakes you’ve been making for a long time, and I reckon it’s only natural that that makes them harder to deal with.”  He reached up and placed a hand on Stephen’s neck, running his thumb gently over the nape. “I’m proud of you for asking for what you needed.” 

Stephen choked on his snort, “You said I was naughty for asking for more.”

“No, I said it was naughty for you to refuse to accept comfort and forgiveness.  You knew you needed more, and you asked for it.”

“Right, while I was telling you how much I didn’t deserve it.  You’re reaching, Nick.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Stephen.  You could have locked those feelings away like you’ve done before.  You didn’t do that.  You let them out instead, and you trusted me to help you handle them.”  He squeezed Stephen’s neck. “That was very brave and very hard.  You should be very proud of yourself for it.  I’m glad, and honored, that you asked me to help.  I hope I’ve done a decent job.”

Stephen sighed. “I . . . you were great.  I . . . like trusting you, not having secrets.”  He had to swallow twice before he could speak with a voice thick with tears, “I know that not everything comes back to Helen.  The affair was always there in the back of my mind for so long.  Everything else I could’ve, should’ve, talked to you about got mixed up with not being able to tell you that.  Not _choosing_ to tell you.  It’s hard for me to think about any of it without that being right there, too.”  He flushed with shame and rushed out the next part ahead of whatever Nick was about to say, “It’s time I stopped using her as an excuse.  It’s on me, what I did, and what I do now.”

Stephen gasped in surprise as Nick clamped his hand on Stephen’s neck and gave his head a sharp shake.  His other hand landed a light slap just above Stephen’s right knee for emphasis. “It’s on _us_.  I won’t let you hurt yourself over it or anything else anymore.  Not ever again, you hear me?”  Stephen nodded.  “You had better.  Our not having things out and talking through them got us to the cage room and your stupid, _stupid_ death.  If Helen isn’t to enter into it, then that can’t, either.  But I’ll tell you now, I’m not going to let you risk yourself, or put yourself in harm’s way, because you think it’ll make up for something you did or didn’t do.   The others won’t, either.  Consider yourself on notice, Stephen James Hart.” 

“Yessir.”

Nick huffed, “I mean it, Stephen.  You feel bad for something, you come to one of us.  You try and go off and deal with it on your own, I don’t care how well things turn out, you won’t be sitting comfortably for a long time after I’m done with you.”

“Yes, Nick.”

“That’s better.  Never fancied myself as a ‘sir’.”

“Lester will be relieved he’s got one less competitor for that knighthood.” 

“Deflecting things with humor.  I don’t know that we’re quite there yet.”  Nick picked the now-tepid cloths up off Stephen’s bottom and replaced them with a fresh, cold set draped over his lower curves.

Stephen moaned in appreciation and shifted onto his side a bit so he was facing Nick.  He opened his hand and moved it away from the pillow.  Nick had always been good at picking up on Stephen’s subtle signals and now he took the hint and slid up to rest on his hip, half curled around Stephen.  Stephen took Nick’s proffered hand and curled in return to rest the top of his head against Nick’s stomach.  His mentor’s hand came to rest on Stephen’s head, carding gently through his hair.  “I . . . I’m not going to thank you, but . . . the whole,” he had to grit his teeth to say it, “the naughty part . . .”

Nick soothed the sting of his chuckle with a squeeze of Stephen’s hand. “I don’t expect thanks.  Just, “So long as you learn from it and move on.  Yeah?” Stephen nodded emphatically.  _He’d **definitely** learned something_.  “As for your naughtiness. . .”  Stephen wrinkled his nose.  He was gratified when the smirk that could well have been evident in Nick’s voice was entirely absent.  “. . . Willfully holding on to things and denying yourself comfort so you could beat up on yourself more is not something I’m going to let slide.  You weren’t in trouble for anything from the past, even if some of those feelings were mixed up in why you broke the rules.  You were being a brat, trying to make it about things it wasn’t.”

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose.”

“I know.  But you were doing it, and I wasn’t about to let you.”

“So I was in trouble for . . . I was _being naughty_ by using other things I felt bad about to get away from facing up to what I’d actually done?”

“Something like that.  You were naughty because you short-changed yourself and wouldn’t let yourself be punished and move on.  Something comes up, we talk about it and agree like adults.  You don’t try and get around the process by wallowing in guilt.” 

Stephen grimaced. “So from now on, if I’m, if I do something _naughty_?”  _He should be able to just say the word without blushing_.

“If there’s any naughtiness from now on, I’ll have to love-tap it right out of you.”

Stephen couldn’t stop the grin. “That’s what those were, huh?  Love taps?”

“Most of them.  I needed something a bit sterner to pull you back to me a few times.”  Nick leaned down with a grin of his own, and dropped a kiss on Stephen’s brow. “Aye, those were love taps.  Naughty nephews need love, too, you know.”

“I like that.  Love taps.  Thanks, Uncle Nicky.” 

Nick laughed. “I’d call you cheeky if I wasn’t the one who suggested that name first.”

“You beat me to it.”  Stephen wiggled as bit.  Water from the wet cloths on his lower bum was dripping into the hollow of his knees and he was beginning to get chilled.  Nick shifted so he could remove the cloths and flip the blanket back to cover Stephen up again.

“I’ve got something to ask you, Stephen.”

“Uh, sure.”

Nick squeezed Stephen reassuringly. “Nothing to worry about.  I’m wondering if you want ice or not.”  At Stephen’s sharp side-eye, he hastened to explain, “You invited those love taps because you still felt like you needed more.  I’m wondering if you could use something to help you remember you’ve been punished.  If I put ice on your bum, you won’t be feeling it for as long.  I want to make sure you’ve got what you need, Stephen.”

 _Hunh_.  Stephen nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’ve got a point.  I think . . . you’re right.  As much as I don’t want to, I do think I need to feel it, so I know I’ve paid and it’s done.  I can always get more ice and lotion if I change my mind, right?”

“Of course.  No ice, then.  But you still get lotion.  Ready?”

Stephen smiled. “Definitely.”

“Your wish is my command, Stephen, King of Thieves.”  Stephen turned onto his stomach and wrapped both arms around the pillow as Nick uncurled from around him and scooted down the bed to sit by Stephen’s hip.  He folded back the blanket and squirted lotion into his hands, using both palms to carefully rub the cream into one cheek and then the other.  Stephen whimpered some as Nick’s calluses caught on one bit of sore skin or another, but mostly just lay there and relaxed under the ministrations.  By the time Nick was applying a second coat to his sit spots, Stephen was dozing, his exhaustion catching back up to him.

Nick put the lotion aside and wiped his hands dry before easing Stephen’s boxers back into place.  “Come on, let’s get you up to the head of the bed and tucked in for a good sleep.”

Stephen was drowsy enough that he didn’t do more than mumble as he allowed Nick to herd him up the bed and under the covers.  Nick tucked Stephen in and rubbed his shoulder. “I’m going to get some reading; I’ll be right back to sit with you.” 

Nick was back in five minutes, settling on the bed, propped up by Stephen’s side with a stack of journals beside him.  Stephen succumbed to the lure of sleep with his nose pressed against Nick’s jeans-clad thigh and the weight of his friend’s hand resting on his head.

 

**_Stephen Hart’s Car, En Route to London_ **

Silence reigned once more in Stephen’s car as he stopped his story at the point where he’d lost consciousness.  He waited for Becks to say something.  There was no sound, and Stephen glanced to his left to check on his little brother.  Becker was staring straight ahead out the windshield.  Stephen cleared his throat. “Alright?”

Becker blinked and reached a hand up like he was going to run it over his face before dropping it back into his lap instead. “Fine.  Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.  That the neat tidy ending you were hoping for?”

Becker shrugged, “Sure.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“There were a lot of issues there.  Between you and Nick.”

“We dealt with them.  We’re still dealing with them, but we’re fine.”  He caught Becker’s eye, “We’re fine.  Nothing for you to worry about.”

There was a long pause, and then Becks nodded.  Stephen had the same feeling he’d had up in the tree, that there was something more there.  Stephen reminded himself that he’d already decided on valorous discretion around this issue, and resolved to keep an eye on things.  He could read Nick or the others in if the time came. 

Becker cleared his throat. “How much of a bollocking am I in for, do you think?”  He put up his hand. “Forget I asked.”

Stephen answered him anyway, “If this was before our family, I’d say a damn good one.  Since we became family, he’s been more for scolding than yelling.  But Nick’s good at putting his finger on the heart of the matter, so don’t think you’re getting off easier just because he’ll be keeping his voice down.”

Becker glared, “I said to forget I asked.”

“So we can change the subject.  Radio’s out.  Know any good car games?  Unless there’s something else you want to talk about?”

Becker held his glare for a moment more then grunted and turned back to look out at the country roads in front of them. “No.  The only car games I know involve other cars and pubs.  Not enough of either of those around here.”

Stephen agreed, “Won’t be many cars this time of night once we get closer to the city either.  Might be able to play with lorries, though.”

“License plate or make and model?”

“License plate, I’m not that good at recognizing cars, lorries’d be impossible.”

“License plate alphabet then.  As soon as we see any cars.”

Becker turned to look out the window, and Stephen concentrated on his driving on dark and muddy roads.  They reached the freeway soon enough, but neither of them seemed inclined to break the silence to initiate the agreed-upon game.   

Having already decided to let Becker talk or not in his own time, Stephen let his mind drift back to two nights ago.  He found himself opening his mouth without meaning to.  Apparently, he needed to tell the whole thing.  So with Becker a silent audience beside him, Stephen did:

 

**_Nick’s House, the Previous Thursday_ **

 

Stephen woke for the second time that evening to Nick leaning away to place a journal on the bedside table, where it joined a large stack already discarded.  Stephen pushed up on his forearms and ran his tongue over his teeth, “Looks like I woke up just in time.  Did you actually get all your backlog of abstracts read for once?”

Nick chuckled. “Aye, you’ll be very proud of me.  Not a one left to do.  Until the next lot comes in the post, that is.”

“Such a burden to bear, keeping up with research in your chosen field.”

“Given the standard of scholarship getting published in some of these, it definitely is.  I’ve taught first-year undergrads who could write better than this,” Nick thunked his finger on the stack of journals for emphasis. 

“Connor’d blow them out of the water, for sure.”  Stephen turned carefully to face Nick, hissing as he did so, and propped himself up on his elbow. “If we hadn’t known each other for so long, you’d have cut me loose when you found out about the affair.  Or after I did something stupid on one of the expeditions.” _Way to cut to the chase there, Stephen_.

Cutter stiffened. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

“Don’t lie to me, Nick.  Don’t lie to yourself.  You kept me on because you saw me as competent, and we got on and I didn’t annoy you.  If you’d thought I wasn’t. . . you’d have looked for the first excuse to get rid of me.  Soon as I did something stupid and it didn’t turn out well.”

“You’re saying I only treat people fairly when I like them.”

“I’m saying for someone who prides himself on keeping an open mind, you can be close-minded when it comes to other people.”

“I’m not that bad, surely.”

“You try more when you’re emotional, or if you think the person could be useful to you.”  The conversation he’d overheard on his way to the lab came back to Stephen.  The conversation that had prompted him to turn toward the gym and its weight machines instead.

Nick drew his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed next to Stephen.  “I am trying to work on it, Stephen.  These past years have shown me some things about myself that I don’t much like.”

Stephen laughed mirthlessly. “I haven’t much liked myself for years.  Welcome to the club.” 

Nick turned to him. “This isn’t about Helen anymore, is it?”

“No.”  Stephen hadn’t planned on mentioning any of this, but he knew he needed to work on things, and maybe working on his own stuff would help Nick to work on his.  Stephen threw the covers back. “If we’re doing this, I need some tea.  Come on.”  And there was his bum reminding him that he’d forgone ice.  “Ow, ow, ah, next time I ask for more, just clip me round the ear instead, will you?”

Nick came around to Stephen’s side of the bed. “Not likely.  Here we go,” he pulled Stephen into a hug before slinging an arm around his shoulders as they headed back out to the kitchen.  Stephen ignored his trousers and boots on the floor.  There were only Nick and himself here; there was no reason he couldn’t just walk around in his underwear if it suited him.  Though, he was a bit cold. 

Nick noticed a great deal once he was paying attention. “Put the kettle on, I’ll get you a robe and slippers.  Place’s always been a bit drafty, especially this time of year.”  He retreated with a pat to Stephen’s back once Stephen was in place by the counter.  Nick was back with the promised items just as Stephen flipped the switch on the kettle and retrieved their mugs from earlier.  He exchanged the mugs for the slippers and robe and corralled the tea, sugar and milk while Nick rinsed out the mugs at the sink.  Stephen took the clean mugs from Nick and set them on the table, passing back the teapot with the cold tea from earlier to be rinsed in its turn.  The kettle clicked off, tea was made and milk and sugar added to mugs while it steeped. Stephen leaned against the counter, facing Nick, who himself leaned against the table.  They regarded each other in silence.  Nick poured his tea, gestured for Stephen’s mug, and poured for his friend before passing his mug back.  “So?”

Stephen closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the steam from the tea on his face.  There was a way to talk to Nick that didn’t involve telling him about what he’d overheard.  He could make it about the past, not the present.  But it was about the present, even if the past was definitely making the present worse.  Nick was paying attention and he wasn’t one for tact when he wanted answers, “This has something to do with why you decided to push yourself in the gym today.  You going to tell me or do I need to guess?”

Stephen reflected that telling Nick things had become much easier at the same time as it had become harder since they’d reconciled.  “I picked up a bunch of different datasets from a couple of the other labs after lunch.  You know, to get back to my office, I have to walk by the soldiers’ locker room and that break room they’ve claimed that’s right next door?”  Nick nodded.  “I could hear them talking.”  Stephen cleared his throat and concentrated on the mug in his hands. “They were talking about the team.  About me, mostly.  Wondering why I was still on it, since I’d slept with your wife and then betrayed you all by working with her behind your backs.”  He closed his eyes, “They figured the only reason I got let back on the team was because I’d died and everyone felt like they couldn’t kick me off after that.  Said that I was probably only on the team in the first place because I was easy on the eyes and that made up for you being all surly.  I just had to hang back and come and bat my eyes at the public whenever you started up, and everything was sorted.  There were at least a dozen others who could do the tracking and shooting, and we have Abby and Connor for creature identification and tech, so I just got dragged along out of habit.  No one could bear to tell me I had to go, not with this face,” Stephen spread his fingers in scornful indication of his facial features.  “I got kept around because you pitied me.”  Stephen turned the mug in his hands, “They implied a whole bunch of other stuff, as well, about us and Helen and how I must have played you both to get where I am. . .”  He glanced up at Nick. 

His friend looked flabbergasted, with a rapidly-growing side of aghast closely chased by righteous indignation.  “They . . . that’s why you wanted to erase the footage.  Not to keep me from finding out, to keep them from having anything else to use against you.”

Stephen inclined his head. “Yeah.  I didn’t really think about you finding out or not, not until after I’d erased the footage.  And then I realized I’d more or less drawn a big neon sign pointing to me and what I’d done for you to follow,” Stephen’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile.

“I’m glad.  I needed to know you were struggling and back to old habits, to deal with it.  I wish you’d told me about what those men said before now,” Nick fixed Stephen with a look of mild reproof.

Stephen ducked his head in chagrin.  He watched his hands turn his mug this way and that. “I. . . some days it’s hard not to think they’re right.  So I just didn’t think, I turned around and headed to the gym.” 

He waited for Nick to start defending him, running roughshod over Stephen’s feelings in a bid to deny the subtext of the soldiers’ comments.  Nick surprised him. “You’ve been feeling like this for years, haven’t you?”

Stephen nodded.  Nick didn’t say anything.  They drank their tea in silence, and Stephen felt it rising in him.  With Nick there listening, Stephen finally began to give voice to a decade worth of insecurities:

Stephen had never been sure he’d even have gotten to work with the Cutters at all if Helen hadn’t found him attractive.  Oh, he knew that he was no slouch academically.  Helen wasn’t about to take on a student who couldn’t keep up with the work.  But Stephen knew that while his work was solid and he was above-average academically, there were many others who would’ve been able to do what Stephen did with almost no effort.  Some of them had probably been his competitors for a spot as Helen Cutter’s student. 

That was the thing that had spurred him on to gym after gym over the years, to push himself to his limits and beyond.  More than the terrible secret of his affair with Helen, Stephen had been haunted by the queasy feeling that all that he had in life had been handed to him for reasons that had nothing to do with his skills or accomplishments, and everything to do with his fitting into some preconceived notion of what a competent, useful, ‘ideal’ student and assistant looked and acted like.  He made a good first impression; he was young and fit, a white male who enjoyed being outdoors and got along well with ‘typical blokes.’  None of that made him qualified for anything other than being someone you might enjoy having a pint with down the pub. 

As Stephen’s confession came to an end, he summed all of it up, “I just I don’t know if I’ve really earned anything in my life.” 

Nick’s voice was softly matter-of-fact, “Whether you earned it or not, you still deserve it.”  He shook his head. “You don’t think I’ve thought the same things?  That I was lucky to get the thesis supervisor I had, lucky that the dig I based my thesis on just so happened to be the one where we found something new and interesting?  Lucky that when I was ready to look for a job, there were positions open for me to apply for?”  He went to stand by Stephen and bumped his shoulder. “Lucky that you came into my life, and stayed in it?  _However_ you got there?” 

Stephen managed a wan smile out of habit, “I love you, too.  But . . .”

“You still wonder what you’re doing here.  Me, too.  But Stephen, we’re here now, and we need to make the most of it.”

“Do our best and get on with it?”

“No, do our best to sort through things.  As hard as it is, the only respect we need to earn is our own.”

“I’m not so good at that.”

“Whenever you feel undeserving you go find a gym and run yourself into the ground instead.”

Stephen nodded; he could own his issues.

“Just remember what I said; you don’t tell me you’re struggling, and I’ll spank you.  I’ll let the rest of the family know as well, so don’t think you can use them to sneak around behind my back either.”

“Awww, you’re warming the cockles of my heart, here, Nick.”

“You keep on using humor as a dodge, and I’ll be doing some warming all right.”  Nick mimed clipping Stephen ‘round the ear.

Stephen ducked away. “Ah!  Nick!”  His friend raised an eyebrow.  “That is _not_ what I meant!  Deflection is not asking for more.”  Stephen subsided with the tatters of his good graces huffily gathered to him.  “Fine, but the same goes for you.  I find you stewing off by yourself about something, I’m giving you a reminder or more.”  He met Nick’s eyes, “Got it?”

“Loud and clear.  You understand?”

“I do.  No struggling alone anymore.  Tell and ask.”

“Tell and ask, aye.”  Nick contemplated his mug with his head cocked to the side, “We’re both going to spend quite a while with sore bottoms, aren’t we?”

Stephen snorted into his tea. “Oh yeah.  Makes me envy the other Stephens, they probably hardly ever get smacked anymore.”

“Something to look forward to, then.”  They clinked mugs with matching smirks.  The ARC family salute.  “So, who were these soldiers who felt the need to run their mouths?”       


	6. Home Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becker faces up to things, with Nick’s help.

**_Stephen Hart’s Car, Still En Route to London_ **

 

Becker frowned, “I’d like to know that, as well.  No one under my command should be treating anyone with that sort of disrespect.  Civilian or otherwise.”  Stephen was reminded of the difference between Captain Becker and his brother Becks.  He felt privileged he got to know the man next to him as more than the buttoned-up head of their official protection detail. 

“I’m not sure.  I didn’t look in, just heard them talking.  I didn’t recognize the voices, so they were new.  I can try and pin down the exact time, if that helps you figure out who’d have been in the break room then.”

Becker nodded, “It’d be a good place to start.  If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not a problem.  I can peg it to the security footage I erased.  I went straight from there to the gym.”  Stephen paused as something occurred to him.  “About the footage . . .?”

“I’ll back you up.  Cutter asked you to go over some things and you weren’t familiar with the new equipment and erased it by accident.  Next time someone unfamiliar comes in, I’ll make sure whoever’s on duty verifies their credentials and makes sure they know how to work the equipment.”

“Thanks.”

Becks shrugged. “Just doing my job.  Both of them.” 

The brothers lapsed back into silence.  Given the time of night, there wasn’t any traffic, even with the goods lorries, and Stephen was pulling into a spot down the street from Nick’s house in record time.  He shifted into park, and they sat there with the engine running.  With a decisive nod, Stephen turned the engine off and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Nick will be a bit, I suspect.  We should go wait inside.”

Becker took a moment to take that in, then shrugged off his own seatbelt and followed Stephen out of the car.  Stephen collected the cat carrier and its resident kitten from the back seat and let them all into the house.  He hung up his jacket in the usual place by the front door, tossed his keys onto the hall table, and led the way into the kitchen.  He set the carrier down in the corner and, after checking that Scrap was still dozing, started to gather the makings of tea.  He called Nick and left a message to let their older friend know he and Becks were at the house and waiting for him.  Just as he ended the call, Stephen’s phone rang.  It was Connor.  Eyebrows raised, Stephen answered, “Everything alright, Conn?”

“Oh, um, yeah.  Everything’s fine.  Becks is there with you right?  You haven’t left him at Cutter’s yet?”

“We’re both here at Cutter’s.  Nick hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Oh.  Probably got caught up with the locals.  Nice of you to keep him company.”

“Connor, what’s this about?”

“Nothing.  It’s fine, really.  I just wanted to make sure you two got back okay, that’s all.”  Stephen could hear Abby hiss “Just ask him, will you?” and then Connor was speaking again, “So now I know you’re back, I’ll just, um. . .”

Stephen sighed, “Connor, do you want to talk to Becker?”

“No!  Um, no, that’s okay.  Thanks Stephen, but. . .”

Stephen rolled his eyes and handed the phone to Becker, “Connor wants to talk to you.”  He could hear Connor’s squawk of protest through the phone.

Becker took his mobile from him and put it to his ear.  “Connor?”  A pause.  “I’m fine.  I’m sorry I worried you.  Don’t apologize, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.  We’re okay.  I promise.  Yes.  I _promise,_ Connor.”  Another pause.  “Oh.  I’ll . . . keep that in mind.  Thanks.  I love you.  Tell Abby I love her, too.  Same here.  Now go get some sleep.  Goodbye, Connor.”  Becker ended the call with a fond huff.  “He wanted to make sure I wasn’t still mad at him about the thing by the car.”  Becker shook his head. “As if I had any right to be mad at him.”

Stephen nodded, “He takes things to heart easily.  Life’s given him reason to.”

“I’m sorry to say I’ve had a hand in feeding that sort of attitude in the past.  Makes me want to go back and thump myself when I was younger.”

“You ever figure out how to do that, let me know so I can come with.”

“Absolutely.  Think we could pound some sense into Nick while we were at it?”

“Not if Helen was still around.  God, I am so sick of talking about Helen Cutter.”

“Sorry.  Connor said to remember that Nick knows what he’s doing and that includes comfort.  He also reminded me what I told you, that I’ve got as much right to cry when I’m smacked as anyone.”

“Good for him.  He’s right; you’re supposed to react to it.  Doesn’t matter how you’d react to anything else.  When you’re over Nick’s knee, because you agreed to be there . . .”

“When it’s a family thing?”

“Exactly.  It’s different when it’s family.  You get smacked, you cry, that’s how it is.”

“I’m skeptical, but I’m getting the impression that I may not have much choice.”

Stephen turned to his SERE-trained, ‘ultimate tough guy’ little brother and patted him on the shoulder, then gave him a hug, “You’ll see.  Try not to fight yourself when it happens.”

“I’ll try to try,” Becker frowned at the awkward wording.  They were interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock.  Nick came into the kitchen as Stephen stepped away from Becks and unplugged the kettle, “Guess I won’t be getting that tea.  I’ll leave you two to it.  Look after each other, will you?”

“Of course.  Goodnight, Stephen.”  Nick gave Stephen a quick hug and moved aside so he could reach Becker. 

Stephen pulled his Lil’ Action Bro in for a hug. “It’s not going to be fun, but you’ll be okay.  Trust Nick.  And trust yourself, yeah?”

Becks cleared his throat. “Got it.  Night Stephen.”

“Night.”

Stephen released Becker and was stepping back when Becks caught his arm. “Go look in on Connor and Abby, will you?” 

Stephen nodded and stepped back into the embrace for one last squeeze.  “No problem, mate.”

On a mad impulse, Stephen dropped a quick, sloppy kiss on Becks’ forehead as he backed away, ignoring the startled sound and the indignant huff that followed it.  Stephen clasped Nick’s shoulder as he passed, collected the cat carrier and made his way out to his car.  It was up to Nick and Becks now.

 

Becker stood and regarded Nick Cutter where he stood across the table.  He had no idea what to do or say.  He’d spent his whole life surrounded by rules and codes of conduct--written, spoken, unspoken and intuited.  None of those had entered his mind when he’d driven to investigate the creature sighting on his own or when he’d turned his mobile off and kept it off.  He’d broken a set of rules he’d helped to draw up and had _signed_.  Without a thought.  He mentally shook his head. W _hat is wrong with me_? 

Stephen had gotten the story of his childhood out of him, and his parents had been in the back of Becker’s mind ever since.  Their voices were louder and clearer in his head than they had been for years: “ _How could you disappoint us like this_?” and “ _You know better, Hilary_ ,” and “ _If that’s how you’re going to behave, you have no place in this family_ ,” and “ _We will let you know when we are ready to speak to you again, young man._ ”  Becker pulled himself up. _Face up to it and take what’s coming to you.  Beckers don’t show weakness_. “I’ve no excuse for my behavior, sir.”  He took in a shaky breath, _stop that sniveling and take your lumps like a man_. “Please don’t send me away.” 

Nick gawped at him. “You think I’m going to banish you?  _Of course_ I’m not going to send you away!” Nick advanced on him and yanked Becker into a hug. “Och, come here.  You’re in trouble, aye, and I’m going to spank you, but you are part of my family, and you’re not going anywhere, you hear me?”  Nick drew back so he could look Becks in the eye. “I love you as much as I do Stephen, and Connor, and Abby.  I’m not going to stop just because you’ve made a few mistakes.” 

Becks shook his head, “My parents. . .” he could feel himself crumbling.  _He’d promised Stephen he’d try not to fight himself_.  “I’ll do better, please, I don’t want to be shut out!”  Becker heard himself fold down into high-pitched sobs for the first time in over a decade.  “ _Please,_ Nick!”

Nick Cutter stood paralyzed for a moment.  He’d thought something like this might happen, but knowing it was a possibility and seeing it happen . . . seeing his normally stoic, punctilious adopted nephew break from his military bearing, lose all semblance of self-discipline and beg for reassurance . . . astonished panic startled awake in Nick’s chest.  Then compassion and instinct took over, and Nick shook aside his silly preconceived notions and stepped up to take Becker’s face between his hands.  “I’m right here, Becks.  I’m not going anywhere.  You’re staying right here with me, and we are going to deal with your behavior, and none of it will make one whit of difference to how much I love you.  You’re family, and family doesn’t get sent away.”  _At least **this** family doesn’t send people away_.  _Just what sort of parents did their Becks have, anyway_?  “ _This_ family is _forever,_ and so are our love and care.  I’m not sending you away, no matter what.” 

Becker lunged forward, wrapped his arms around Nick like he was doing his best to squeeze all the air out of him, and buried his face in Nick’s shoulder.  Nick reciprocated with a matching hug and leaned his head down onto Becks’ hair, nuzzling him and insisting over and over in his ear that he loved him, he would never send him away.

Becker pulled away, wiped at his eyes and hid his flushed face with his hand.  Nick didn’t release him, keeping his arms looped around his nephew’s back.  Becker pulled back a bit more, then gave up on putting distance between them, “Sorry.  Stephen asked about my parents earlier.  I haven’t thought about them in a long time.  I didn’t mean to interrupt the process.  It won’t happen again.”

Nick growled, “It will happen again.  To me, and to Stephen, and you, and Abby, and Connor.  I can promise you that I won’t deal with it any better when it’s my turn.  I’ll most likely deal with it a good deal worse than any of you, stubborn sod that I am.”  He jostled Becks inside his arms. “Every one of us brings our own past to the table, and we all have things that are going to trip us up.  We’ll all be there to pick each other up when it happens.”  He gave Becker’s back a sharp poke. “You’re doing the same as Abby, and Stephen and Connor did in your place.  Enough making yourself an exception to the rule.”

Becker jerked at the poke, and dropped his head with a sigh. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?  I didn’t follow the rules.”

“That’s not what I said.  You broke the rules.  You want to fight me on the consequences, then go for it.  Stop working against yourself.”

Becks rubbed at his eyes, lowered his hand away from his face, and raised shining eyes to meet Nick’s.  “Okay.”

Nick nodded.  There was no trace of pity or condescension in his gaze.  He stepped back. “You don’t have to tell me about your parents if you don’t want to.  We can leave that aside and move on, or you can tell me now, or later, or not at all.  Your choice.  If it’s something I can help with, I hope you’ll let me.”

Becker swallowed, “Thank you.  I told Stephen, you can ask him.  I want you to know but . . . I don’t want to . . . give them more power over me.  I need this to be about you and me and our family.  If I tell you about them now . . . it will give them a part in this, and they don’t deserve that.”

Nick had an idea that Becks’ parents didn’t deserve _him_.  “Aye.  Time to talk about the rules you broke today, Becks.”  He turned and sat himself in a chair and gestured for Becker to do the same.  “Tell me why you’re in trouble.”  Nick frowned as Becker pulled himself up to sit ramrod-straight and once again focused his gaze just above Nick’s left shoulder.  The professor leaned forward and grabbed Becks’ hand in both his own. “I’m not your commanding officer.  This isn’t the Army; this is you and me.  Work with me.  Push back if you want, but don’t pull away from me.”  He gave the hand a shake hard enough to flop his nephew’s arm side to side. 

Becker blew out a breath, and then another.  His eyes remained fixed beyond Nick as he panted.  His shoulders pulled up towards his ears then dropped as he fought to force them down and break himself out of the habitual refuge he’d built, where his true feelings stayed trapped inside him, leaving him aching and alone, but squared away.  Always squared away and showing proper leadership.  “I’m _trying_.  Nick, I don’t know how to do this.”

“Alright, I get that.  Let me think for a minute.”  Nick bowed his head and rubbed his thumbs over the back of Becker’s hand as he worked through what he knew of their current situation and the options available to him.  “Before I do anything else, I need to know if you agree to my being in charge here.  As your uncle, who is going to punish you.”

Becker’s chest rattled as he took in two giant breaths in preparation. “Yes, I agree.”  His voice was tight and bland, but uncertainty and trepidation leaked at speed out from the edges, “Uncle Nick?”

“Aye, lad.  Come with me.”  Nick kept ahold of his nephew’s hands as he rose to his feet and towed him through into the lounge.  He seated himself on the sofa and reached down to undo his boots, tapping his foot against Becker’s, “Shoes off and sit by me.”  Clearly disoriented, Becker did as he was told.  Once they were both seated, Nick turned sideways and put his arm around Becks’ shoulders, pulling him closer.  “Look at me.”  He tapped Becker’s chin with two fingers to bring his attention up to his face.  Their Becks looked as young as he still was when his professional reserve fell away.  “Good, lad.  There’s our Becks.  Now, you and I are here to talk about your behavior today.  Why are you in trouble?”

Becks licked his lips as his eyes darted around before dropping to his lap. “I broke the family rules.”

“You did.  You went off alone into a potentially life-threatening situation without telling anyone.”  Becker nodded jerkily.  “What else did you do?”

Becker peaked up at Nick’s stern face from under his lashes. “I turned my mobile off so no one could reach me.  Or find me.”

Nick glared severely into his eyes. “I had to ask Connor to do something that is almost definitely illegal to find you.  You made it so we had no way of helping you, and no way of knowing that you were okay.  That is not acceptable, Hilary James Becker, and you know it.”  His nephew’s eyes got huge at the use of his full name.  There was an added stiffness in his shoulders and back that Nick didn’t like. 

Nick sat back and caught his startled nephew’s eyes again. “You’re obviously still struggling with this, so we’re going to have this conversation another way.  Stand up.”  Nick surveyed the room and came to a conclusion, “Stay right there.”  Nick turned, went into the kitchen and returned with a step stool.  He set the stool just in front of the broad thick arm of his couch.  He’d purchased new furniture several months ago, after getting rid of the majority of the pieces he and Helen had shared.  This new sofa was a modified Chesterfield with thick, tufted, overstuffed leather cushions, and low arms that were at least a foot wide. 

Wanting to get Becker situated before he had a chance to pull himself back together, Nick grabbed his arm and pulled Becks around to the side of the couch.  He hid a smile at his young friend’s confusion as Nick seated himself well back on the arm of the couch and put his feet up on the stool.  He turned and announced, “Trousers are coming down,” as he made short work of undoing and lowering his nephew’s khakis.  As soon as the trousers were around Becks’ knees, Nick took hold of his elbow with one hand and patted his own thigh with the other. “Over you go, Becks.  We’ll have the rest of our discussion when you’re across my knees.” 

He gave the sputtering Becker a good yank, and did his best to catch him as he belly-flopped down onto Nick’s thighs.  Nick pushed down on the small of his nephew’s back and wrapped an arm around his thigh to maneuver Becker into position, head down and pressed into the couch cushions, bum stuck straight up in the air over Nick’s right thigh, and legs dangling down to the floor.  He rested his hand on the seat of Becks’ boxer briefs and waited.  Becker spluttered as he scrabbled to get his bearings. “Wha’?  I, you, we’re discussing things _like this_?”

“Aye.  You were about to retreat into Captain Becker, and he has no place here.  I’m dealing with my nephew Becks.  You’re in this position to remind you of that.  This isn’t about your job, lad, it’s about _you_.”  He patted the bum under his hand for emphasis.

Becker wriggled instinctually then forced himself still and growled, “You can’t just hold me here and expect . . .”

Nick cut him off sternly, “I’m in charge and I am your Uncle and that means that I can.”  This time, the pats were significantly sharper. “We’ve got a fair bit left to discuss, so I suggest you get comfortable and listen, Hilary James.” 

He only had a second of warning to note the sudden rigidity of Becker’s shoulders before his friend was exploding, pounding a fist into the couch and swinging his other hand back to land a hard punch to Nick’s calf, “ _Don’t call me that_!” 

Nick held himself carefully still and made sure his voice was mild, “We don’t hit each other in this family.  We don’t lash out, and we don’t intentionally hurt each other.  Settle down and talk to me.”  After making sure every part of his nephew’s bottom had received at least two pats, Nick rested his hand and waited. 

“I _Hate. That. Name._ ”  Becker buried his face in his hands and whispered, “ _They_ always used it.”  Nick didn’t ask who _they_ were. 

“I’m sorry, Becks.  From now on, it’s Becks or Becker and nothing else, unless and until you tell us otherwise.”  He reached up to rub Becks’ back soothingly.  Nick made his voice a stern contrast to his soothing actions, and put every bit of disappointed censure he knew how into the name. “ ** _Becker_** ,” Becks whined as he relaxed back down with an unhappy wiggle, “Why are you in trouble and over my knee?”  A huffy grumble floated up from the couch cushion. “Answer the question.” 

“Let me up, and I will.”

“No.  You are not calling the shots right now.”  Deciding his nephew needed a bit more of a push, Nick reached up and drew Becker’s boxer-briefs down to his knees, and resumed patting the now-bare bottom.  “Answer the question, _Becker_.”  Becker sucked in a startled breath when fresh air hit his exposed skin.  He clenched his fists when Nick began the stomach-twisting affectionate pats again, but it did no good.  He was still dangling over Nick’s knee, bum draped over a solid thigh, bare and feeling his adopted uncle’s hand while he waited to be spanked in earnest.  Becker swallowed and whispered something into his hands.  “Speak up.  I need to hear you.”

“I turned my mobile off and didn’t turn it back on.”

 “You deliberately made yourself unreachable.  And?”

“I went to check out a creature sighting on my own.”

“Yes.  And?”

“I didn’t tell anyone I was going, and I didn’t tell Stephen what was going on when I called him.”

“You did not.  You scared us when we couldn’t reach you, and you are very lucky you and Stephen weren’t hurt.  We could well have arrived to have to identify your bodies.”

“We were fine, though.”

“The risk to your life was the same.”  Becker tensed his bum like he was expecting that statement to be punctuated by a swat.  Nick waited for him to relax before landing two sharp slaps.  Becker’s feet kicked against the floor. “Ah!” 

On that note. . . “Remember what Stephen told you, Becks, and let yourself cry.”  Nick brought his hand down hard enough to jerk his nephew forward across his knee.  He was gratified to hear Becks’ involuntary yelp.  When a dozen smacks had been doled out and Becker was still yelping, Nick felt he could safely assume that the man over his knees wasn’t going to clam up on him.  “That’s it, Becks-lad.  Good on you for letting me hear it.” 

His praise popped the lock on Becks’ last bit of reserve.  Each smack now merited a stamp or a kick, and each yelp was wetter than the last.  A bit more, and Becks threw a hand back to grab onto Nick’s calf.  Cutter applied his hand to Becker’s sit spots, and caught the hand that shot up from his calf to cup itself over the target area, interlocking his fingers with Becker’s and moving their hands to press down together in the small of his charge’s back.  After another half-dozen spanks, he returned his attention to the center of Becker’s butt.  Nick could hear sniffles and then a small, stifled sob.  Time to get things into gear. 

Nick lessened the force of his spanks to mid-strength, and kept up a continuous onslaught while he shifted Becker forward, pausing just long enough to push his nephew’s legs off his knee.  He pulled his own right leg free and hauled Becker back into position, this time with Nick’s leg trapping him firmly in place.  Becks was already kicking hard and high as Nick pinned him.  He dissolved into loud, miserable, continuous tears half a minute later as Cutter resumed spanking.  Soon Becker’s sobs resolved into frantic pleas, “I’ll be good, please, no more, Uncle Nick, no more, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good, no more . . .”

Nick was sorely tempted to reply, but he’d promised Becks could react however he needed to.  Nick strongly suspected that for a graduate of SAS Selection and SERE training, begging like this was a response he could honor more by letting it be what it was and not trying to frame the experience for Becker by correcting him.

He also had an inkling that his poor nephew was spilling out the reactions he’d hoarded and repressed time and again while he was subject to his parents’ so-called ‘care.’  Becks was with family now, and no one cared how he handled his spanking, no one was going to hold what he said in the moment against him.  There was censure, but it was coupled with affection and love and acceptance of Becker, flaws and all. 

Nick switched to landing multiple, loose-wristed, hard spanks on one spot in rapid succession.  He chose spots at random and used the deepening color of Becker’s wriggling red bottom as a guide to make sure he paid equal attention to the entire area of chastisement.  Becker’s vocalizations were mostly formless sounds of pain and anguish now, the odd garbled attempt at an enunciated word becoming less and less frequent.  Gritting his teeth at both the anticipated reaction and the problematic sting in his own palm, Cutter began to pay renewed attention to the tender under curves, using the same random placement technique spread over a much narrower target range. 

Muscular thighs strained mightily against the vice grip of Nick’s own legs, instinctually trying to move their owner out of the line of fire.  The vice grip Becks had on Nick’s left hand had winched tighter and tighter as his nephew’s distress had grown and now Nick could barely feel his fingers. Becks did his very best to squirm and rock and fight his way off Nick’s lap, employing all the instinctual, futile tactics of the guilty and well-spanked.  Nick concentrated on keeping his aim true and his hand smacking Beck’s bare bum without a hitch in severity or timing regardless of the gyrations of the man over his knee.  It seemed that Becks shared the wriggling instinct with his big brother.  Once again, Nick considered saying something, but he’d promised himself to trust his instincts in this.  It had served him well so far, with Connor and Stephen both, so Cutter kept mum and did not give their Becks anything to think about other than his seared, burning seat. 

As hard as he was squirming, Becker was employing none of the many fool-proof military fighting tactics that Nick had no doubt he could have used to free himself.  If those skills were not being deployed against Nick it was because there was still a conscious part of Becker that was keeping himself from using them, constantly shoving aside the need for self-defense and making himself take this, making himself be Becks. 

From the little he’d heard, Nick reckoned that even Becker himself did not fully know who Becks was, only that he was not the little boy yearning for things he could not have, nor the Special Forces Captain, nor Hilary James Becker, son of a military family.  Becks was a leap of faith.  In this moment, Nick Cutter was in awe of that leap.  Becker being Becks meant trusting Nick to steer their course, even in this most unknown of territories. Becks was fraught and tangled with emotions and yearnings and needs he struggled to even look at.  Yet in this moment, he leaned toward his ARC family for help and protection and care and love.  Nick Cutter had never felt so humbled in all his life. 

Nick kept smacking rhythmically, returning to the standard pattern of circuits.  He reminded himself that Becks had risked his life and settled in for the long haul.  Every minute or so he deviated from the pattern to work the tender sit spots in a loop of extra stingy smacks. Becks slumped forward into the couch to bawl and twitch, giving up the last vestiges of trying to escape his punishment.  Nick’s middle nephew lay collapsed into the cushion of Nick’s lap and the overstuffed sofa, caterwauling out just how sore and sorry he was.   Nick returned to applying his palm to one spot repeatedly.  Once that one spot was blazing hot, he moved down that cheek to the next spot, stopping just above the sit spot and moving his hand to the opposite cheek to work his way back up to the crest on that side. 

Nick thought about how no one had known where Becks was, whether he was dead or alive, and changed to spanking sharp and fast.  His hand pistoned through three circuits before he switched to especially hard, slow spanks that jerked Becks forward over his lap.  Four rounds of the technique with which Nick had begun Becker’s punishment were followed by another three circuits of sharp and fast, then four more rounds of hip-jerking wallops, and finally a sustained flurry of  light, stinging smacks at high speed.  There wasn’t the tiniest place on Becker’s bottom that didn’t surpass with ease the final color of Stephen’s bum after that man’s first spanking. 

If this were Becker, Nick would stop here on a hard note.  This was Becks and he deserved better than that.  Nick slowly decreased the strength of his spanks until he was landing light swats at about half his previous fast pace.  He covered Becks’ bottom in careful clips of palm on skin, listening to Becks greet and grizzle and squall, slowly, slowly easing off to love taps that tapered to soft affectionate pats amid the sounds of messy, stutter-breathed, throat-clogging crying. 

A nice long bum patting session later, Nick stayed his hand and rested it just above Becks’ left knee.  His left hand was numb, crushed by Becker’s right where their hands lay with fingers interlaced at the small of Becks’ back.  Nick lifted his leg off of Becker’s.  He used his one free hand and some undignified scooting and wriggling to get both his legs back on the arm of the sofa and both feet on the step stool.  Nick got Becks’ legs stretched back out over both his knees, and moved his right hand to gently rub Becks’ hand.  Nick coaxed the cramped digits to relax, release, disentangle and free his left hand.  He moved the freed hand up to where Becker’s shirt had rucked itself up toward his shoulder blades.  Nick crooned nonsensical soothing noises as he rubbed circles on Becks’ back.  The shaking of his nephew’s shoulders was a counterpoint to the ferocious static of pins and needles in Nick’s recovering digits.  With both hands in play now, Nick caressed Becker’s back and arms. “Alright, laddie.  It’s over and done now, my Becks.  I forgive you.  I love you. It’ll be okay.  You’ve done so well, Becks-love.  Uncle Nick’s got you.  There now, laddie . . .” 

Nick’s hand was almost entirely restored to normal sensation again, and Becks was still blubbing into the couch.  His limp hand cupped Nick’s knee without a semblance of intent.  Nick decided that a fierce cuddle was very definitely the order of the moment.  He slowly smoothed his hands across and away from the skin of Becks’ back, tenderly pulled Becker’s boxer briefs up to re-cover his bum, and shucked Becks’ khakis down to his ankles and off.  Modesty restored, Nick kicked the step-stool out from under his feet, and scooched forward on the arm of the sofa to put his feet onto the floor.  He got his hands under Becker’s shoulders and armpits, and urged him up off Nick’s rapidly tilting lap.  “C’mon Becks-love, up we go.  Time for a nice cuddle, laddie.  That’s right, just a moment on your feet, I promise. . .” 

It was indeed only a moment.  As soon as Nick got them standing and his arms around Becks in a loose hug, then Becks wrapped himself around Nick’s shoulders and slumped into the embrace as dead weight.  Nick was just able to knee the stool the rest of the way out of the way before he was collapsing to the floor on his bottom.  He was followed by Becker, whose knees folded like accordions and deposited him onto his hip in the space between Nick’s knees.  Mentally shrugging away the possibility of a more cushioned cuddling spot for the foreseeable future, Nick settled with his back against the arm of the couch, spread his legs wider, and tightened his hold.  Becker curled up with his knees to his chest, turned himself into Nick and cinched himself in close with a possessive arm around Nick’s lower back.  Becker nuzzled his face against Nick’s chest and leaned into his uncle’s warm embrace, clinging to his shirt and letting Nick take his weight.  Nick wrapped Becks up in his arms even more securely, and brought his knees up to cradle Becks from the sides as well.  He splayed a hand on the side of Becks’ face and began to card his fingers through the short brown hair.


	7. All for One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort is awesome and so are supportive siblings.

**_Outside Connor and Abby’s Flat_ **

Between driving to get Becker, sitting up a tree for hours, driving back to London and now driving to visit his little sister and brother, Stephen’s sore bottom was not happy at all.  He parked his car a block down from Abby and Connor’s flat and reflected that at least the parking gods seemed to like him when he was on comfort-related family errands.  Now if he could persuade them to view him as favorably the rest of the time . . .  Stephen retrieved Scrap and went to ring the bell to the flat.  He knocked for good measure.  He was about to ring again when Connor yanked open the door with, “Can’t you read?  The sign right there clearly says. . . Stephen?”

“Figured me for a door to door salesman?”

“You’ve got a key.  Only people who’re going to be ringing the bell this time of night are salespeople and those pairs of missionary kids, and there’s a sign right there that says we don’t do either so . . .”

“I can read.  You going to let me in?”

“Right, sorry.  ‘Course.”  Connor stepped aside and Stephen followed him inside, closing the door behind him and following Connor up the stairs. 

He looked around, “Where’s Abby?”

“She was supposed to have dinner with a friend from her yoga class.  She was thinking of canceling, but I convinced her to go.  Job doesn’t always give us time to get out and do stuff.  Shouldn’t waste it when we’ve got it, you know?”

“Sensible.”  Stephen set Scrap in her carrier down by the top of the stairs and, after doing a visual sweep to make sure none of the inhabitants of the reptile tanks were accessible to a curious feline, opened the door to the carrier.  Unsure what he was doing here, Stephen fell back on the basic British solution to everything, “Tea?”

“Yeah.”  Connor went to sit on the couch, leaving Stephen to make his way to the kitchen. Typical Connor: you offered tea, he took you up on it; didn’t occur to him that he should offer to make it himself, given that it was his own flat and not Stephen’s.  While he waited for the kettle to boil, Stephen filled a dish with water and set it by the carrier, in case Scrap was thirsty too.  Tea in hand, and biscuits for good measure, Stephen joined Connor on the sofa.  They sat in silence for all of thirty seconds before, “Why’re you here, Stephen?  S’nice to see you, don’t get me wrong, but. . .”  Wide eyes turned abruptly to Stephen, “nothing’s happened has it?”  Connor hissed as hot tea slopped over the sides of his mug onto his thigh. 

Stephen batted Connor’s hands away as he applied the prophylactic tea towel he’d brought with him from the kitchen to Connor’s wet jeans, “No, everything’s fine.”  He sat back and met Connor’s eyes with a twinkle in his own, “Except for Becks getting his from Nick.” 

Connor smiled in return, but it wasn’t the usual small, pleased grin he got when included in brotherly banter.  The smile slipped from Connor’s face once he broke eye contact.  He raised his mug up to hide his face, taking a deliberate sip of tea. 

Stephen put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, “You alright?”

“M’fine.  Just . . .”  Stephen waited, keeping his open, ‘I’m listening’ face on.  “. . . I should be furious at him, right?  I wasn’t even sure I was going to be able to find you two for a while there, hack . . . activating your phones remotely.  And then we had the whole drive to worry about whether or not you were okay, if we’d find you dead, or injured, or if you’d even be there at all.”  Connor hunched over his tea, “I know he’s okay, but we had that stupid row by the car.”

“You talked to him.  He apologized.  He’s with Nick, nothing’s going to happen to him.”

Connor gave another weak perfunctory smile.  “He’s with Nick, getting his arse handed to him.  I totally think he deserves it.  Would’ve done it myself for a moment there. . .”  Connor sighed and scrunched his face up in self-deprecation, “Why do I still feel bad?  Like I should be rescuing him?”

Stephen considered this.  “Not sure, mate.  Would you feel better if we went over there, made sure Becks is still in one piece?”

“Guess so.  I didn’t get to touch him, you know?  I mean, I went and hugged him, but then he shouted at me and we got sent home.”

“You know Nick didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”  Connor set his mug down on the floor and reached for the biscuits.  “You got sent home as well, so I don’t know what I’m whinging about.”

Stephen frowned, “None of us ‘got sent home.’”

“We’re not there though.”

“Do you _want_ to be there?”

“No.  Yes.  You were there for me.  Both you and Becks.  Guess I’m not allowed to return the favor, hey?”  Connor grabbed his tea off the floor and strode back toward the kitchen.  Stephen followed him and leaned against the counter as Connor set his mug in the sink with the rest of the washing up. 

“You’re feeling left out.”

“No!  It’s fine.  Some things I just don’t do, I get that.”  Stephen chose not to comment.  “I had Nick and you to talk to before, when . . . the first time.  And you were waiting downstairs afterwards.”  Connor shook his head.  When he looked at Stephen, it was with the same face he used when he was forcing himself to own up to some mistake, “I left him alone.”

“We’re going back to Nick’s,” Stephen turned and made his way back down the stairs to the door, handed Connor his jacket, pulled on his own and followed his little brother out of the flat. 

 

**_Nick’s House_ **

 

Becker came awake to the sound of a heartbeat under his ear.  As he snapped back to reality like an elastic band released from a cocked finger Becker felt a sticky, gummy spitball of physical sensation splat dead center between his metaphorical eyes.  His bottom **_really hurt_**.  He didn’t have to reach back and touch it to feel the heat radiating from his abused skin.  Hours of running over rough terrain carrying a hundred pound pack hadn’t made him feel this bone-tired.  Despite that, Becker knew he wouldn’t think of withdrawing his consent to the corporal punishment side of his family of choice.  But **_damn that had hurt_**.   He groaned as he let go of the shirt between his fingers to scrub at his eyes, “Cold down here.”

Nick’s knees relaxed from the tight clamp they’d had at Becker’s sides but did not straighten all the way down.  His uncle vigorously rubbed his shoulders, “Didn’t want to disturb things by trying to reach a blanket.”  He loosened his hold more as Becker disentangled himself.  Becker tried and failed to find a way to get his stiff limbs to coordinate themselves so he could rise from the floor without his bottom making contact with anything.  He couldn’t contain a whimpered, “ _Ow_ ” as he stumbled to his feet.  Once the noise was out, his bum decided it was in the driver’s seat of his mouth, “ _Ow, ow, dammit, ouch, **ow, ow, ooowww**_.” 

Nick levered himself to his own feet by pressing his hands into the edge of the arm of the couch.  He stepped forward on tottering legs and gave Becks a hug.  Becks returned the hug with loose limbs.  _He was **not** going to do anything so undignified as reach back and rub_.  _Oh, sod it_.  Becks’ hands went to his bottom, flying away with a sharp gasp as the contact had the opposite effect he’d been hoping for.  “How hard did you smack me?!”

“Hard enough for what you’d done.  And for it being your first time.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you put your life in danger.  As I recall, we didn’t put up with that from Connor.”  Nick met Becks’ eyes.  “And Connor didn’t go off on his own with his mobile turned off.”

Becks choked, “Oh.”  He winced.  He’d gotten an up close and personal look at Connor’s bottom after he’d contributed to making their family’s position on risking one’s life very clear.  That sight had made him say definitively that he wasn’t going to ever do anything to earn that sort of spanking if he could help it.  His transgressions had been significantly worse than Connor’s.  And now Nick had essentially told him he’d gotten off much easier because it was his first time.  “I’m an _idiot_.”

“Nah, just human.”

“Too human.”

“No such thing.  Come along now, you’re due some soothing.”

“Oh.”  An idiot and sounding like one too.  Becker leaned into Nick’s side arm embrace as his shiny new uncle led them out of the lounge and up the stairs to the master bedroom.  Once again, movement ignited the burn in his bum.  Sounds of distress tripped off his tongue.  Becker was sniffling and glassy-eyed as Nick helped him into the center of the bed, snagging an extra pillow to place under Becks’ head.  Becker clutched the pillow in shaking arms and tried to regulate his breathing.  He turned his head and watched as Nick shook out the blankets at the foot of the bed and laid one down on the bed beside him, folding it back.  “That really isn’t necessary.”

“Standard operating procedure.”

“Since when?”

“Since it worked for your brothers.”

Becker bit the _But I’m not them_ from off the tip of his tongue and settled for, “Fine.”

Nick rolled his eyes, “You’re a sulky bastard when you’ve got a sore bottom, aren’t you?”

“And you’re a prickly arse who keeps putting his foot far enough down his throat he should be breathing shoe leather by now.”

“Leave off, you, or . . .” Nick grunted and turned to face away from the bed, shoving his hands into his pockets.  He took several deep breaths, “. . . Sorry.”  He worked his jaw and ran a hand over the back of his neck, “You’re right.  I guess I’m not so good at this part.”

“You did okay with Stephen, from what he said.”

“I’ve known Stephen for over a decade, larger data set to work from.”

“Wonderful.  Smacking my arse is now officially a science project.  Were you planning on publishing your findings?”

Nick turned around and sat on the side of the bed so he could look Becks in the face, “If I aspirate my shoes, will you let me help already?  Please.”

“I am not giving you the Heimlich maneuver.”

“Stubborn git.”

“Poor excuse for an uncle.” 

Nick swallowed against the wet lump in this throat, “Aye, I am that.”

“You’re fine with Connor.  And Stephen.  Brilliant even.”

Nick didn’t half want to slink off in disgrace.  Instead he shuffled farther up on the bed, reached out his arm and began to rub careful circles on Becks’ back.  Their Becks stiffened at the contact and then his face crumpled into garbled tears.  Ignoring the frantic shaking of the head, Nick lay himself down beside Becks and opened his arms, “Stubborn cuddle, Becks-love?”

“ _Please_.”  Nick rolled aside to Becker’s bereft mew, snagged the blanket and brought it over them both.  Nick and Becker came into the hug at the same time, stubbornly burrowed into each other and held on.  Nick rubbed the solid back under his palm and felt tears soak into his shirt front.  If there was one thing he did know about uncle-ing, it was hugs and cuddles.   

    

 

**_Stephen’s Car, En Route to Nick’s House_ **

 

The drive across London was silent.  The parking gods continued to shine their favor down onto supportive siblings, this time providing a space right next to Nick’s car in front of the house. 

Stephen strode toward the front door only to be stopped by Connor’s hand on his elbow, “They may still be in the midst of things.  We should go around back.  We can stay back in the kitchen so we don’t interrupt.” He wrinkled his nose, “Or grab a beer and take it out into the garden while we wait.”

Stephen smiled, “Good thinking.”  He stopped halfway down the path along the side of the house, “I don’t have a back door key.”

Connor poked him in the back to get him moving, “I do.  Made sure I got both keys to copy when Nick said me and Abby and Becks could have spares.” 

“Good thinking.”

“I do a lot of that.”

Stephen chuckled, “You do, don’t you?”  They closed the garden gate carefully behind them, doing their best to minimize the screech of rusted hinges that pierced the night.  Stephen stepped aside and let Connor precede him to the back door.  Connor let them in and slid to stand just inside the back hall, head cocked as he listened.  The house was quiet.  They exchanged looks.  Whatever was going on they needed to know what it was so they could help Becks.

 

 

Becks had taken a long time to cry himself out, clinging tight to his Uncle Nick and loosening his hold only when he’d exhausted himself and his tears both.  Nick had had a dozing Becker ensconced in his arms for about ten minutes when he thought he heard the door open downstairs.  There was silence, then the sound of two pairs of boots coming down the hall, pausing and then creaking up the stairs.  Connor bustled into the room.  Stephen followed him close enough to trip over his brother’s heels if he weren’t careful.  Both men paused midway across the room and took in the scene. 

Connor’s face fell, “We missed it then.”  He shuffled sideways, gesturing vaguely with his hands, “Sorry to barge in like that, I’ll just be going. . .” his shoulders hunched as he turned back to the door. 

Becker shifted and muttered, “Connor?”  He twisted around to peer at Connor who had his head craned back over his shoulder.  “You’re leaving?” 

Connor turned back to face the bed, “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Becker shook his head, “Supposed to hug me, am I right?”

Connor shuffled.  His face was hopeful, “If you want me to?”

Stephen met Nick’s eyes and raised his eyebrows.  Nick inclined his head toward Becks.  It was up to him whether we wanted Stephen and Connor to join in or not. 

Becks eyed Connor and then his eyes cut to Stephen.  Stephen resisted his own urge to shuffle in the awkward silence.  “Would you two get over here already?  It’s not nice to keep me waiting.”

Stephen smiled and reached to steady Connor as their geek scrambled to get his boots off as he replied, “You don’t have to tell us twice.  Be right there, mate, just need a second. . .”

Once he was sure Connor was steady on his feet again, Stephen fumbled his own shoes off and approached the side of the bed.  Connor had circled to the far side and was gingerly creeping across the mattress.  Becks pulled his hand out from under the blanket and wiggled his fingers impatiently at Connor.  Their youngest brother scuttled the rest of the way across the gap between them and limpeted himself against Becker’s side.  Becker turned to face Connor and, to all their surprise, ducked his head to push into Connor’s chest.  Connor rose to the occasion with barely a pause and adjusted his tenacious hold to the new position.  Stephen was stopped on his knees halfway onto the bed trying to work out where to fit himself into the equation.  Nick squeezed Becks’ shoulder, slid out from under the blanket and held it up for Stephen.  Once everyone was tucked in and two extra blankets added to the mix for good measure, Nick stretched, “I’ll let your brothers have their turn while I go collect the soothing supplies.” 

“You’re coming back?”

Nick reached over Stephen to rub Becks’ ankle, “Of course.  Stubborn cuddle, remember?”  Becks’ nose rubbed against Connor’s shirt as he nodded. 

Stephen melded himself around Becks from behind, bumped his chin against Connor’s hand where it rested on their brother’s back and arranged his arms to fit in around Connor’s established embrace.  He smiled against the back of Beck’s neck, “It’s raaaather nice to have a cuddle.” 

Connor picked up thread, “ _Puurrrhummmm_.”  Becker’s tiny laugh juddered down into mewling gasps.  Stephen was at a loss, but Connor met his eyes, exaggeratedly raised his hand and lowered it to pet Becks’ back in long firm strokes, continuing his purr-hum.  Stephen followed where he was led.  Nick returned to his bedroom bearing the standard soothing kit to the sound of the most peculiar, endearing cat noises he’d ever heard. 

 

Nick had dispensed with the cool clothes and was lifting the ice packs off of Becks’ bottom as he prepared to move them lower down when Abby came into the room.  She froze in the doorway, scanned the scene, eyed Becker’s red bottom and squared her shoulders, “You lot are letting me in on that cuddle.” 

The three men already surrounding Becker exchanged bewildered looks.  Three mouths opened, and Abby steamrolled right over them, “Becks, I’m good to join in, right?”

“Do _all_ of you need engraved invitations?” 

Nick smiled fondly, “Sulky Becks-puss. . .” the rest of the sentence was cut off by Abby shoving past him to grab Stephen’s arm.

She pulled backwards, trying to haul Stephen away from Becker’s side, “Stephen, you get in the middle underneath him.  I’m taking your place.  Connor, scoot over so he can get under there.”  She raised her eyebrows, “Well?  Hop to it you two, let’s go.” 

“Hopping.”

“Hop, hop.”

Abby rolled her eyes, “Like herding cats, honestly.”  She narrowed her eyes as all four men dissolved into giggles and emitted a chorus of _purrs_ and _marraows_ as they rearranged themselves.  Becker met Stephen’s eyes as he rolled aside and raised his eyebrows.  Stephen gave him a reassuring smile and slight nod.  However his bum reacted to the pressure, giving Becks what he needed would be more than worth it. 

As soon as Becker was settled on top of Stephen with a vacant space at his side, Abby produced a self-satisfied _mrrp_ of her own and dove under the blankets to wiggle up against his side.  Becks turned his head to look at her and she grinned at him, leaning in to rub their noses together.  Abby took in the red face with its tear tracks and watery eyes, “Alright?”

“Getting there.” 

“Good.”  Abby tucked herself into the cuddle, buried her nose at the base of Becks’ neck and began stroking his back.  Stephen and Connor happily joined in the petting within a heartbeat.

Nick had quickly drawn Becker’s shorts up to preserve his modesty while the rearranging went on, moving back to accommodate the shuffled limbs on the bed.  Now he took up his old place, moved the blanket out of the way and carefully drew Becker’s shorts back down, setting the ice packs on his lower curves.  He joined in the petting, placing his hands on Becks’ lower back just above his bottom.

The five family members on the bed lapsed into comfortable silence.  Nick’s shifting broke the stillness.  

Becker murmured, “Cuddles’re nice.”

“An’ you get as many as you want,” Connor snuggled in to make his point.  Then to prove that his brain never stopped working, at least when he wasn’t nursing a sore backside himself, “Should have some way to make sure of that.”

  I don’t see how.  We’re not always together,” Stephen pointed out.

“So you can’t be bothered to clue the rest of us in, even for cuddles?”  Connor’s tone indicated just how ridiculous he found that idea.

Becker’s exasperated voice was muffled by Stephen’s chest, “Code words.”

“Such as?”  Nick’s ‘I’m skeptical but go ahead and convince me’ voice.

“I don’t know!  Something like . . . you say you’re going to stop by the shop later to get . . . milk, or something, and ask if the other person wants you to pick something up for them while you’re there.”

“You could text it too.  Or ring,” Abby the pragmatic.

“And then whoever got the message could pass it on,” Connor wanted to be sure he was kept in the loop.

“Good idea, Becks.  Maybe not milk though.”  Nick smiled and scritched his nails over his nephew’s back playfully, “Cream for my sweet kittens.”

Connor snorted, Abby worked an arm free and reached back to ‘bat’ at Nick and Stephen raised his eyebrows, “Kittens still have claws, you know.”

“Cream and cat toys then” 

“A harness for Connor, so we can keep him from wandering off among the dustbins . . .”  Becks cut Abby off with a hiss as Nick removed the ice packs from his bum altogether, eased his boxer briefs up and flipped down the blanket.

Connor rubbed and nuzzled him soothingly, “If I get a harness, Becks gets a bell and those rubber things that fit over claws so he can’t scratch things up.”

“I’d like to see you try and get them on me.”

“I’d like to see any of you get a harness past the security cameras without my knowing.”

Becks turned his head to look at Connor with shining eyes, waggled his eyebrows, glanced exaggeratedly up at Nick and twitched his nose.  Connor returned a broad wink. 

“Truce?”

“Truce.  No bell and no harness.”

Becker ducked his head and stifled a snort, “Deal.”

“And no cream for either of you if you go ahead with whatever plan it is you’re hatching.”

“Don’t count your chickens, Nick.  You might enjoy whatever it is.”

Nick huffed down at Abby, “I doubt it . . . but I would like getting my revenge.”

Stephen raised his eyebrows at Nick, “No reason you can’t join in the fun, Nick.  Get them first when they least expect it . . .”

“And leave you out of it altogether?  Not likely, Stephen.”

“A man can dream.”

“Dream on, King of Thieves.”

“Guys.”  Connor’s soft voice cut in.  Their geek tilted his head at Becks, whose shoulders were shaking softly.  “Sorry mate, got off track there.”  Becker’s shoulders shook harder as he tried to stifle his sobs.  “Becks?”

“Becker?”  Abby huddled closer. 

Becker shook his head in tiny jerks, gasping miserably and burst into tears when the three siblings holding him began a coordinated rocking motion while Nick used both hands to rub his shaking back.  His outburst lasted less than a minute before tapering into dolorous grizzling.  “Sorry.  I . . . you’re here and we’re all joking like . . . I scared you and I yelled at you about it.  Why’re you here?”

“Because we love you, Becks,” Nick might have been saying the sky was blue.

“Makes no sense.”

“Love doesn’t make sense, Becks.  It just is.”  Abby gently reminded him.

“I’m here because you’re my little brother and I love you and you need me.”

“Yes, you scared me.  I forgive you.  I love you; that’s why I was scared.  That was why you were scared when I almost got eaten at the airport, and you forgave me.  I forgive you.  I love you, Becks, and I will always come find you.”  Connor might fumble with his words oft times, but he found a way to say what needed saying when it really counted.

“I forgive you too.  I’ll forgive you again if you do it again.  That’s what family does.”  Abby choked on sudden tears, “The good ones anyway.”

Becker flipped over and pulled her into his arms.  She cried into his chest as he spent fresh tears into her hair.  Nick came up behind Abby and wrapped his arms around her.  Stephen adjusted his arms to accommodate Abby’s head on his side next to Becker’s on his chest.  He rested his other hand on Connor’s head as the geek adjusted his own position to curl around Becker’s back, sandwiching Stephen’s leg between them.  Nick was glad that he had a big bed and correspondingly large blankets for all them to fit under together.

Becker and Abby’s tears slowed after a while but no one was inclined to move.  Nick hummed a lullaby and was joined by soft murmurs of contentment.  After a few minutes, he sat up and tapped Becks’ calf, “Ready for lotion?”

“Mmmmhmm.”

“Out loud, lad.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to lie flat then.”

Abby began to pull away, “I’ll, uh, go put the kettle on. . .”

“You weren’t thinking about that when you shoved your way in here,” Connor pointed out.

Stephen cut then off, “Abby can close her eyes, as long as Becks is okay with it.”

“Becks is okay with it and wants his lotion now.  So _move_ ,” Becks pointedly pushed up on his elbow and flipped onto his front, making Stephen, Abby and Connor grunt as they each caught a sharp elbow or chin in the scramble to rearrange themselves.

Nick folded the blanket back and lowered Becker’s pants.  Stephen glanced down at Becks’ red cheeks, getting his first clear look at his little brother’s smacked bum, “You look worse than Connor the first time.”

“Yours looked almost as bad,” Nick pointed out as he reached for the lotion.  Abby and Connor’s heads swiveled to stare at Stephen from either side.

“You didn’t say you got smacked.”

“ _Stephen_!”            

Connor glared resentfully, “You got me down here so I could cuddle Becks an’ I should’ve been cuddling _you_.”

Stephen shook his head, “I was fine, there was no need. . . .”

“You should’ve given us the chance to offer.”

Nick set the lotion aside and thought for a moment before flipping the blanket back down to keep his nephew’s bottom from getting chilled.  The other three siblings on the bed didn’t notice Becker’s muffled whine.

Stephen sighed, “What was I supposed to do, Conn?  Call you up and let you know I was in trouble?”

“ _Yes_!”

Nick resumed rubbing Becks’ back and contemplated jumping in.

Abby added her two cents, “How’d you feel if it was me, and I was walking around sore and you had no idea?”

“Has that happened?”  Abby glared.  “Point taken.”

Connor’s glare got worse, “We just had a whole conversation about telling each other when we were in trouble and you didn’t say a word.”

“I was fine without . . .”  Two hands slapped into his collar bones from either side _hard_. “OW!”

Stephen let go of Becks to clip Abby and Connor round the ear, adding a solid thunk from his knuckle against each of their heads for good measure.

Connor pushed up on his elbow to slug Stephen in the shoulder, closely followed by Abby boxing Stephen’s ear in return.  Stephen sat up and prepared to grab his younger siblings.

Nick cleared his throat very loudly.  The three sniping siblings turned their heads to meet the glare directed their way.  Stephen furrowed his brow, “What?”

“We do not hit each other, Stephen James.  Connor Duncan.  Abigail Sarah.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Does this mean Stephen and I can’t thump Becks for scaring us later?”

“He deserved it.”

“Yes it does, no you most certainly cannot and no he did not.  The three of you will be getting a reminder later.”

“But . . .”

“Oh, _come on_.”

“He hit us back, so it’s even . . .”

Becker clutched Stephen hard enough to push the remaining air right out of him, “ _Stop it_!”

Nick jerked his head down at their Becks.  He needn’t have bothered.  Stephen, Connor and Abby dove back into a snuggling knot with shamed faces, murmuring chagrined sorries to their neglected brother.  Nick refocused, “Lotion now, Becks-love.”

For a moment it seemed like Becker was going to say something, then he shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut and slowly, deliberately nodded.  Nick gently folded the blanket back to bare Becks’ bottom.  He reached for the lotion, applied a generous dollop to the nearest cheek and began to sing softly as he ghosted his fingers over hot skin, easing the soothing cream in.  Becker sniffled and whimpered at the touch but he slowly relaxed back into his human mattress.  By the time he was squirting lotion onto the second cheek, Nick’s song had three extra voices humming along.

When Nick smoothed the last bit of lotion in and slid Becks’ boxer briefs back up for the final time that day, the three faces he could see were relaxed in exhausted sleep.  Becks was a snoring pliant bundle in the middle of the sibling kitten-pile.  Nick eased to his feet and murmured, “I’ll see about getting something delivered for a late dinner,” just in case anyone was awake enough to hear him.  He made sure to add an extra blanket on top of the pile and tuck the four of them in very securely before tiptoeing downstairs. 


	8. Weights and Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plates are cleaned, problems are addressed and a new game is hatched.

Becker woke first, letting himself drift for a bit on the rise and fall of sleep deepened breathing surrounding him.  He felt wrung out, cared for, loved and he wanted his uncle.  He wriggled under the tight blankets, pushing up on his elbows as he muzzily plotted the easiest route out from between his siblings and off the bed.  Abby and Connor blinked awake.  Becker took that as this cue to shove the blankets away and climb over Abby, who presented the smallest obstacle between him and wherever Nick had gone.  He could hear the three of them flailing behind him, garbling questions to each other, “Need Nick.”

He was so intent on finding Nick he barely registered the pain flaring anew in his bottom . . .

“ _NICK_!”  Stephen’s bellow would have summoned the dead. 

Feet thundered down the hall and up the stairs at a dead run and Nick met Becker on the landing.  He slowed for only the second it took to register the open arms rising from the waist and the stricken face and threw his arms around Becks in a huge bear hug.  The impact of their bodies sent them stumbling.  They thunked against the wall before Nick turned them so his back was supported against the plaster as he supported Becker, “I’ve got you.  I’m here, I’ve got you, don’t you worry.  I’m not going anywhere, laddie.” 

Becker was vaguely aware of Stephen, Connor and Abby sliding past them down the stairs, murmuring assents in response to Nick’s quiet comment about take away.  He concentrated on the man holding him tight.  He was aware of footsteps tiptoeing back up the stairs and Connor’s quiet voice announcing, “Just in case you wanted these,” accompanied by the clink-flump of metal and cloth being placed on the floor. 

Becks stood within his uncle’s embrace and steadied himself bit by bit.  When he drew away, Nick inquired, “Alright?  We can stay right here, or take things back to the bed, whatever you need.”  Becker ran a hand over his face and shook his head.  “Ready to go downstairs and eat something then?”  He nodded.  Nick inclined his head at the trousers piled at the top of the stairs, “D’you want to get back into those or shall I fetch a robe?”

Becker felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.  Trust Connor to think of bringing his discarded trousers up from the study.  He stooped to pick them up and accepted Nick’s shoulder as a support while he balanced on one foot and then the other, finally sliding his jeans carefully up to his waist and zipping up.  He drew his belt from its loops and set it aside rather than leave it hanging open.  Becker sucked in a strong breath and blew it out.  He turned quizzical eyes on Nick. 

“Come ‘ere.”  Nick tossed an arm over Becker’s shoulder and ignored the slight awkwardness caused by the younger man’s advantage in height. 

The two men came into the kitchen to find that their footsteps had heralded their arrival and Abby, Connor and Stephen were busy setting out plates and utensils and opening take away cartons.  Three heads swiveled to send Becker encouraging smiles.  Abby held up a carton, “We got curry from that place you said you liked.  That okay?”

“Sounds perfect.  Vindaloo?”

Connor nodded, “Your love of spicy food is well known.  We got plenty of naan and raita and lassis for the rest of us.  Just in case.”

Becker grinned, “You’ll need them.  This place doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘mild’.”

Nick grinned himself, “Great.  I haven’t had a really good spicy curry in forever.”

Connor frowned, “I didn’t think you did any expeditions to India?”

Stephen shook his head, “No.  But we’ve been to plenty of places with big Indian immigrant communities.  Nick’s not picky so long as it’s authentic.”

“And spicy.”

“Yet you still haven’t worked up the courage to try phall.”

“Even I have my limits.”

“Well, this will definitely be to your liking then,” Becker clapped Nick on the back as he slid out from under his arm.

Abby and Connor came to give him a big hug, Stephen in line just behind them, “Alright?”

“Better.  Still sore,” he shared a commiserating crooked grin with Stephen.  Glancing around the room he surveyed the other three people with experience of these things, “Is it always this intense?  The cuddles are great. . .”

“But epic,” Connor finished the sentence for him.

“Connor’s weren’t, his first time.  Nor Abby’s.”

“Because I’d already shattered all over the break room.  Kinda forced the cuddles to come first.”  Connor pointed out.

“I didn’t mind.  I was fine with just Stephen.”  She grimaced as the hypocrisy of that caught up to her, “Sorry.”

“I think this is another one for the ‘things that are different in the beginning’ list,” Nick had been busy investigating the cardboard jug of chai and now he handed out mugs.

“God, I hope not.”

“No, no, cuddles will always be cuddles.  Emotions shouldn’t be quite so high in the future.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Agreed.  That smacking majorly sucked.”

“Sucks from the other side of things too,” Stephen could attest to that.

“The other Cutter didn’t bother to mention that part,” Nick sounded like he had a definite bone to pick with his double if they ever met again.

All five of them contemplated the difficulties of the disciplinary arrangement their family had agreed to.  “Okay, start listing reasons why this is good idea,” Abby insisted.

“Family.  Love. Cuddles,” Stephen put forth.

“We can get all of that without. . .”

“It works,” Connor cut in quietly.

 “We get to help each other stay safe and. . . do better,” Becker relaxed against the counter.

“No having things hang over you,” Nick shrugged when they all eyed him with matching expressions of ‘and you’d know, would you?’

“It’s predictable.  And straightforward,” Abby was all for the benefits of stability in their unstable, anomaly-ridden lives.

“People from five other universes insisted it was a good idea.”

“That’s only a reason in a sci-fi show, Stephen,” Connor took a sip of chai to hide his smirk.

Nick smirked back at him, “We might just be living in a sci-fi show, Conn.  We deal with rips in space-time and dinosaurs for a living.”

Connor sighed, “It still. . .”

“Majorly sucks!” four voices chorused the end of the sentence with him.  All five of them chortled, grinning at each other.  Nick set his chai down and ran his eyes over his adopted kin.  He’d wait until after they’d eaten to remind three of his brood of unfinished business.  Instead, he raised his eyebrows at Becks, “Pillows or standing?”

Becker considered, “I’ll try pillows first.  Thanks.”

Connor waved both Nick and Stephen off, “I know where they are.  I made sure to check when we were here for movie night.  I’ll get you all the softest ones, Action Bro,” he clapped Becker on the upper arm as he passed by. 

“Cheers, Conn.”

Connor returned with not one but five pillows, which he fluffed and pummeled and cajoled into a feathery throne worthy of the princess of pea fame.  Becker carefully lowered himself, easing until his weight rested fully on his bottom and gave Connor an appreciative smile and nod.  “Works well.”

Nick squeezed Connor’s shoulder, “Good job.”  He sat down himself, “Now eat, before it gets cold!”

He was ready with an appropriate eye roll in response to the chorus of “Yes, Uncle Nicky.”

Abby had gawped at the number of containers of raita and naan Connor had ordered; the naan had had a bag of its own and the raita and taken up a bag and a half.  By the end of the meal, she was swearing never to think ill of Connor’s supposed overestimation of necessary supplies again.  The food was delicious and just as spicy as promised.  She handed a new dish of raita and a whole piece of naan to Stephen without looking as her big brother sputtered yet again.  Becker and Nick had both devoured their food without the slightest sign of discomfort but had still insisted on reaching for the bread and yoghurt sauce.  Connor, Abby and Stephen had had to move the whole mess over to their side of the table in self preservation.  The two spice fiends had grumbled but acquiesced to being placated with extra chai and lassis and the promise of three extra pieces of gulab jamun each.  The spice averse were keeping the kheer for themselves.

A long, satisfying meal later, the ARC family sat back in their chairs around a table strewn with a whole bin’s worth of alimentary detritus.   Becker tottered off his pillows and stretched as he stood.  He glanced at the clock.  Eleven at night, “Feels like it should be later.”

Stephen glanced at the time himself, “Gets dark early this time of year.”

Connor rubbed his face as he stood, “I’m assuming Becks is staying here, but the rest of us should be getting home.”

Nick shook his head as he rose alongside Abby and Stephen, “Not before you and Abby and Stephen get those reminders.”

Three heads swiveled to face him with wide eyes.  Stephen shook his head in annoyance, “Oh, come on, Nick.”

Connor reached up to cover his mouth from one side while Abby shushed him from the other.  “Self preservation, Stephen.”

“Not a good time to argue, big brother.”

Nick jerked his chin at Connor, “Listen to your brother and sister.”  He shook his head in warning as Stephen shook off Connor’s hand, “You knew about the no hitting rule.”

Stephen opened his mouth.  Abby stepped hard on Stephen’s foot.  He hip checked her away from him.  Connor backed away from them both with his hands up and went to stand slightly behind Becker.  Abby turned sideways and kicked Stephen’s shin hard enough to make him hop sideways.  Stephen retaliated by slapping her hip hard enough to jolt her off balance.  Connor slid all the way behind Becker.  Nick put his hands down on the table hard enough to make the plates rattle, “ _Enough_.” 

Abby screwed her mouth up mulishly and glanced away.  Stephen glared directly at Nick.  His glare was returned with the calm, implacable expression of Nick Cutter at his most certain of his own rightness, “That display has earned you both extra.  Keep it up and we’ll forego the reminder altogether.  Now, are you done?” 

Abby and Stephen glanced at each other sideways.  Their shoulders slumped as they gave twin sheepish nods. Stephen shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, “Who’s going first?”

Becker brokered a solution before there was even a battle, “I saw a copy of Cluedo in the lounge. We can use the die from that.  One and two for Abby, three and four for Connor, five and six for Stephen.  Whoever’s number comes up goes first.”  He left the room before anyone could object, returning with the promised die within a minute.  Becks held up the die, stacked the nearest plate on top of the one next to it and stated firmly, “I’ll roll.”  Three pairs of eyes were glued to the tabletop as the die skittered end over end and flipped to a halt.  Abby groaned. “Two,” Becker held up his hand to forestall any movement.  “One to three for Connor, four to six for Stephen.”  He picked up the die and tossed it again, “Five.  Connor, you’ll go last.” 

Nick came around the table to usher Abby out in silence as Becker pocketed the die.  The middle brother cleared his throat, “Assuming you’ll be using the lounge, we’ll do the washing up then go into the front room.  You can hand Abby off to us and collect who’s next here or in there depending on how long it takes.”  Nick nodded his assent and guided Abby into the hall.  Becker pointed at Connor, “You clear the cartons.  Stephen, get the plates scraped and into the sink.  I’ll get the glasses and forks.  I’ll wash, you two can dry.”  The sound of the door to the lounge shutting had all three men jumping into action with noisy gusto.

 

Nick let Abby precede him into the lounge and pulled the door closed behind them hard enough that it would definitely be heard in the kitchen.  He took in her woebegone face and sighed, “Do you agree that you deserve a reminder for hitting Stephen?”

“I’m in here, aren’t I?”

Nick folded his arms, “I’m not forcing you.  You can give me a civil answer.  Do you agree or not?”

Abby groaned, “Yes!  Yes, okay?  Stephen was being a prat and I still think he needed a good thump, but . . . yes, I deserve it.”  She shifted from foot to foot and glanced up at him from under her eyelashes, “Sorry.”

“Not me you need to apologize to.”

“I know.”  She ran her hands down the sides of her trousers, “How are we. . . how are you going to do it?”

Nick let his face soften as he approached Abby, took her arm in a gentle grip and walked them over to the chair by the window.  He propped his foot up on the seat and gave her arm a squeeze, “Over one knee.  Your trousers stay up this time; if you earn another one, you’ll lose them.  I’m giving you three dozen because this is serious.  We shouldn’t be hurting each other, especially in anger.  Understood?”

Abby nodded tremulously, “Yes, Nick.”

“Good.  Ten extra at the end for hitting Stephen just now.  Let’s get this over with.  Over you go,” he guided their lass over his upraised thigh.  He eased her all the way over so that her feet left the floor, her short stature leaving her dangling.  He wrapped an arm around her, “I’ve got you.  I won’t let you fall.  Three dozen.  We do _not_ hit people in this family.”

Abby gasped and jerked as his hand came down in an especially firm spank.  Nick kept his pace slow and measured, covering every area of the squirming backside in deliberate circuits, landing one smack to the tender lower curves for every three applied to the main target area higher up.  By the end of the first dozen Abby was sniffling, her feet waving as her hips swayed in response to the increasing sting.  The second dozen brought forth wet gasps and jerking calves, dissolving into a whimpered litany of “ow, ow, ow” by the tenth spank.  The final dozen occasioned short scissor kicks after each crack of Nick’s palm on Abby’s wriggling bottom.  Audible tears caused her ‘ow’s to wobble at the edges.  Abby felt like she shouldn’t be reacting this much.  But she felt off balance and guilty and the spanks hurt, even with her underpants and khakis for protection. 

Nick spoke sternly from above her, “This next ten you earned when you kicked Stephen in the kitchen.”  Her honorary uncle’s hand came down much harder than before, doling out ten searing spanks that jerked Abby forward and left her crying outright over Nick’s knee.  When Nick levered her upright, she threw herself against his chest and let herself sob in earnest.  Nick stood and held her in his arms and rubbed her back until she pulled away with a hiccup.  “Lesson learned?”

“Yes.”  She didn’t feel like elaborating yet. 

“Ready to go give Stephen a turn, or do you need a minute?”

Abby took in a couple deep breaths and steadied herself against Nick’s chest, “Yeah.  I want to apologize to him first though.”

“Of course.”  Nick tucked her under his arm in what was becoming the standard post-spanking walking position.  On the way down the hall, he snagged a fistful of tissues from the box on the hall table and passed them on so Abby could wipe her eyes.  A glance through the kitchen door confirmed that the washing up was still in progress.

As soon as they were across the threshold, Abby went straight across the room to stand in front of Stephen.  Connor shuffled quickly out of the way to give her access to their older brother.  She looked up Stephen hopefully, “I’m sorry I hit you.”

Stephen smiled down at her, “Apology accepted.” 

Abby returned his smile and gave him a fierce hug, “We’re okay?”

“We’re okay, Sis,” Stephen squeezed her back.  Stephen met Nick’s eyes over her head, pulled back and handed Abby his dish towel, “You can take my place in the line up.  Looks like it’s my turn to face the music.” 

He gave her a reassuring smile, turned it on Connor too and completed it with a self-deprecating shrug.  Connor squeezed Stephen’s shoulder as he passed by.  Nick inclined his head for Stephen to precede him and the pair made their way to the lounge without comment.  With the door securely closed, the friends faced each other.  Nick sighed, “You know I’m not going any easier on you because you’re sore.”

“I do.”

“You agree you’ve earned a reminder?”

“Yep.  Are you going to ask that every time?”

“Maybe.  Probably not as much later on.”

“Things that are different in the beginning?”

“Exactly.”  Nick gestured to the space in front of the chair and came to stand beside Stephen there, “What is this reminder about?”

“Not hitting.  And not arguing that they deserve it.”

“Same as I told Abby, we shouldn’t be hurting each other, especially not in anger.”

Stephen gulped, “Yeah.  You’re right.”

Nick nodded and propped his foot up on the chair.  He met Stephen’s eyes, “I’m proud of you for admitting you’ve done wrong and agreeing to this; I know that was very hard for you last time.”  Stephen flushed and dipped his head at the compliment.  Nick took his arm, “Three dozen and ten extra for what happened in the kitchen.  Bend over.”

Stephen grimaced at the number.  He bent over Nick’s thigh and steadied himself with his hands on the chair cushion.  His head came up when the first spank connected, “Ow!  _Shit_ , Nick!”

Five more smacks and tears were overflowing from Stephen’s eyes.  He didn’t try to stop himself from crying.  He was sobbing lightly by twelve as his toes drummed on the floor in response to Nick’s heavy hand.  His bottom was smarting something fierce and they were only a third of the way done.  _I never should’ve hit them.  What kind of big brother **am** I?_   Nick’s landed the next spank and Stephen dropped his head.  _I won’t ever hit them again, I promise.  I’ll remember not to, I really, really will_. . . The next two dozen passed in a haze of unfettered kicking and full-force sobs. 

Stephen heard Nick say, “Ten extra,” and then yelled as the hardest spank he’d ever felt exploded against his tender bum.  Stephen shoved up away from the chair cushion, instinctively trying to get away.  Nick reached down, grabbed Stephen’s arm and pulled it into the small of his back, pushing Stephen back down so that he had to put his other hand back onto the cushion to avoid smashing his nose into the fabric.  Stephen howled when the next spank connected, tears converting his pained response into wails of distress.  The tenth almighty reminder fell blessedly soon and Stephen collapsed in relief.  He lay limp over Nick’s knee and shook with gasping aftershocks.  Stephen lurched drunkenly when Nick tugged him upright and fell straight into the offered embrace.  _He’d deserved that and he was **never** doing anything to earn a reminder when his bum was still sore ever again_. 

Nick held Stephen, rubbing his back as he had with Abby and added in a swaying upright rock as he crooned to gentle the copious tears.  It took Stephen a wholly unsurprising long while to stop crying and return his breathing to normal.  He stepped out of Nick’s embrace and ran both hands through his hair before dropping them to cup his bum, “ ** _Ow_**.  It’s been all of two days, I’m _still_ sore and somehow I manage to forget how hard your hand is.”  He sniffled ruefully, “I can feel it through both layers.  Definitely going to remember this one.”

“I hope so.  Not something I want to have to do again.”  Stephen nodded; He sympathized after what it had been like to spank Connor. 

He met Nick’s eyes, “Should I feel bad for putting you through that?”

Nick shrugged, “No.  Not how this works, near as I can tell from the limited data we’ve got.  Including the other Cutter’s account of things.”

Stephen nodded and let go of his bum to run his hands over his face, “Connor’s probably chewing the furniture waiting.”

“I’ll bet,” Nick chuckled at the image.  “Let’s go put him out of his misery.”

Stephen slid an arm around Nick’s back to match the arm around his shoulders, “You mean put him into his misery.”

“Don’t let him hear you say it like that.”

“All he’ll hear from me is an apology.”

“Good.”

“You know, I don’t remember you feeling the need to comment on everything before we became family.”

“Nope.”

Stephen bit down a response with a twist of his lips.  A glance in showed them a vacant kitchen and propelled them the rest of the way to the lounge.  Abby and Becker were curled up on their hips on opposite sides of the loveseat with Connor sitting on the floor in lieu of trying to wedge himself into the space between them.  Stephen went to crouch down in front of his youngest brother, “I owe you an apology.  I’m sorry I hit you.  I shouldn’t have.” 

Connor nodded and levered himself to his feet so he could hug Stephen, “It’s okay.  I hit you first.  Which neither of us should have done . . . I mean apology accepted.”

“Good.”  Stephen let go of Connor and steered him toward the doorway with a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Go on and get it over with.”

Connor nodded unsteadily but walked toward Nick without hesitating.  Stephen turned to Abby as mentor and protégé left the room, “I’m sorry I hit you, Abby.  Please forgive me?”

Abby uncurled to give him a hug, “Of course I forgive you.”  She leaned back and took a closer look at him, “You alright?”

Stephen gave her a reassuring squeeze, “Fine.  Sorer than I’d like.  Take my advice, don’t earn yourself a serious reminder when you’ve already been spanked.”

“That’s what Connor said.”

“Well, I should’ve taken his advice.”

Becker spoke up from the far side of the loveseat, “I’ll keep that in mind myself.  Nick’s got a damn hard hand.”

“You can say that again.”

“Nick’s got . . .”

“Shush.  I don’t need to be thinking about that right now.  And neither do either of you.”

“Fair point.”

“Change of subject.”

They all paused as they cast their minds about for a suitable topic.  Becker groaned as he got to his feet, “Cuddles.  When in doubt from now on the default is cuddles.”

Stephen and Abby’s response came in the form of a two sided hug.

 

Nick reflected that he had thought dealing with Connor last time had been exhausting.  It paled in comparison to spanking Stephen and then Becker just two days after that and now dishing out three reminders.  He dreaded the thought of any of his younger family members getting in serious trouble at the same time or, heaven forefend, all four at once.  He shivered at the thought.  Connor glanced at him in alarm.  He patted the lad’s shoulder, “Nothing for you to worry about.  Let’s get this done, shall we?”

“ _Please_.”

Nick led the way to the chair and went ahead and got himself into position, “You agree you’ve earned a reminder and you understand why?”

Connor’s Adam’s apple bobbed, “Yeah.  I shouldn’t have hit Stephen.  Even if he was a right prat.”

Nick suppressed the eye roll at the echo of Abby’s assessment of Stephen’s leaving them in the dark about his recent spanking.  “Exactly.  Three dozen this time.  Bend on over.” 

Connor whined in the back of his throat in anticipation as he obeyed.  He jerked and whined outright in surprise as the first hard spank landed, but kept his responses to involuntary flutter-kicks and unhappy groans through the first two dozen.  He dissolved into quiet remorseful tears as the second spank of the final dozen fell.  Nick was privately impressed.  Connor hopped upright as soon as Nick took his elbow and hugged Nick hard.  His mentor shook his head and closed his arms to complete the hug, “You’re alright.  Over and forgiven.  Take your time.”  Connor nodded against his shoulder.  They stood there with Connor sniffling for a few minutes more. 

Connor stepped back and wiped at his eyes, “Phew.  Not fun, but I’ve got to say, way better than gettin’ it when my bum’s already been torn up for me.”

“I can imagine.  You’ll remember this one?”

“Oh definitely.  You don’t know the meaning of ‘light’ when it comes to smacking, do you?”

“Situation didn’t call for it.”

“Situation never does when it comes to me, does it?”  Connor didn’t quite make it all the way to his trademark cheeky grin.

Nick frowned and caught Connor’s arm as their geek moved toward the door, “The last two spankings you got were for putting yourself in danger and this was for hurting someone you love on purpose.  No one was going to go easy on you for any of that.”  Connor looked away and Nick dipped his head to catch Connor’s eyes, “Hey, look at me.”  He cupped Connor’s face gently and maintained eye contact, “I love you, you know that?”  Connor jerked his chin down in assent.  “Okay?”

Connor closed his eyes, “Okay.  Can I have another hug, please?”  Nick obliged.  Connor’s voice vibrated against his neck, “I don’t mean to make things harder for you.  I don’t want to be bad, honest.”

Nick fought the urge to push Connor back so he could shake the young man and pulled Connor tighter against him instead, “Is that what you think you are?  Bad?”

“There’s mistakes and then there’s the things I mess up.  Bad’s the most accurate name for it I’ve ever heard,” Connor sighed, “My Gran’s friends used to say ‘He shouldn’t be a bad boy with the parents he has, but still. . .’.  My Gran’d do this little hum, like she wasn’t going to speak ill of her own grandson but she couldn’t bring herself to defend me either.”

“Oh, Connor,” Nick wasn’t going to say that Connor’s Gran’s friends probably didn’t mean it like that, he was quite sure they had.  “You should’ve heard some of the things they used to say about me as a lad, ‘Too smart for his own good,’ was the most polite, and I hardly ever heard that because no one in my neighborhood was going to be polite when they could be colorful instead.”  Connor was silent.  “Listen, you are not bad.  Not in any way.  You are leagues ahead of me when it comes to being too smart for your own good, but that just makes you smart for the good of everyone else, and that’s the definition of a good man right there.  Someone who cares about other people and does his best to help them and make them happy.”  He nuzzled his head against Connor’s, “You are so very, very far from being bad, Conn.  And bad or good, I still love you.  Mine now and mine always, remember?”

Connor nodded shakily and clutched at Nick hard enough to make him wheeze.  When Connor loosened his hold, Nick prodded him gently to the side and tucked his second youngest under his arm.  Connor curled sideways towards Nick as they made their way out of the room, “Could you maybe remind me of that first in the future?”  He flushed when Nick glanced at him, “Or not.”

“Of course I will.  If that’s what you need, I’ll remind you how much I love you every hour of every day.  Might need to do some of it by text though.  Otherwise I’d spend all my time running between where you were and where I needed to be and neither of us would ever get any work done.”

Connor’s cheeky grin lit up the hall, “We should so do that.  It’d drive Lester batty.  A whole day of the lot of us rushing around like mad every hour, trying to get into the same room just so we could hug each other and run right back out again.”

Nick barked a laugh as they came into the front room, bringing three heads up to stare at them in surprise from where Abby, Becker and Stephen were sprawled on the floor on their stomachs, each clutching a pillow commandeered from Becker’s ‘throne’ in the kitchen.  Nick hastened to explain, “Connor thinks we ought to play Hug Tag at the ARC some time.”

“It’s actually more like a cross between Sardines and Dare Dash, Hug Dash?”

Becker blinked, “Hug Dash?”

“Sardines?  Isn’t that a version of Hide and Seek?”

Stephen smirked at Abby, “Seek and Hug.”

Nick nodded, “Every hour, on the hour, as fast as we can go.  Find each other, have a nice hug, leg it back to our work.”

“Excellent team building exercise,” Connor nodded sagely.

Becker considered this, “Are we allowed to make ourselves hard to find?”

“So we really have to hunt you down?”  Stephen smiled his best ‘I’m an expert tracker, just you try it’ smile.

“Maybe if we did that every other hour.  You can move around like you’d normally do whenever, but you can only move somewhere hard to find say. . . ten minutes before the two hour mark,” Connor was on a roll.

“Keeping score?”  Nick raised his eyebrows.

Abby shrugged, “Bragging rights?”

They could practically see the strategies flashing behind Becker’s eyes, “The idea is we find each other and we all have to end up in the same place.  So whoever finds someone, those two people then search as a unit, and so on.  Whoever is found last gets the point.”

“How long are we allowed to search for?  If we’re doing it every hour. . .” Stephen smirked across the room at Nick as their three youngest family members took the ball and sprinted away with it.

“Ten minutes to search.  You get two points for being the first to find someone.  Everyone gets one point for every person they find as part of a group.  Whoever gets found last gets four points, and the finding points double if it’s within the first five minutes,” Connor rubbed his hands together.

Abby wrinkled her nose fondly at Connor, “The game pauses if there’s an anomaly, or someone has to do something important, yeah?”

“’Course.  This is supposed to be _fun_ , Abs.”

“Everyone check your calendars when we’re back at work on Tuesday.  We’ll pick a day then,” Nick smiled and nodded with satisfaction in anticipation of their plan.

Connor pumped his fist in triumph, “Yes!  Hug Scramble is a go!”

Stephen was amused, “Hug Scramble?”

“We’re not calling it. . .”

“Hey, I came up with it, I get to name it.”

“Right, okay.  Fair enough,” Abby held her hands up in surrender.

Whatever Stephen was going to say next was interrupted by a gigantic yawn.  He glanced up at the clock on the mantle as he closed his mouth, “Gone midnight.  We should be getting home.”

Nick and Connor came to offer hands down to haul people to their feet.  “If you wanted to stay, we could work something out,” Nick offered.

“Nah,” Connor and Abby both shook their heads.

Abby turned the stink eye on Stephen, “Someone left a kitten in the middle of the flat without leaving a note.  Or feeding the poor thing.”

Stephen squinched his face up in chagrin, “Oops.  I’ll come get her before I head back to mine.”

“And pay me back for the bag of kitten chow.”

“Absolutely.”

“And let me put some lotion on for you, cause you’ve gotta be sore an’ . . . if you want I mean, ‘cause you don’t have to and . . .”

“It’s fine, Conn.  That’d be nice.  Good of you to offer to drive as well.”

“Oh, right!  Course, you’ve probably had enough of that for a while, what with getting out to help Becks and then driving back and coming over to get me at the flat and . . . sure you’re alright, mate?  Those roads were pretty bumpy.”

“Fine, Connor.  Lotion will help.”  Stephen gestured at the door, “Shall we?”

Abby turned to give Becker a hug and passed him off to Connor as she made her way over to Nick for a similar embrace.  Connor and Stephen followed after, each giving and receiving their own farewells and hugs.  As Stephen, Abby and Connor left the house, Nick and Becker could hear Abby’s voice asserting in exasperation, “Oh, just stay over on the sofa, Stephen.  You can make us breakfast in the morning. . .”

Becker and Nick yawned in tandem as the door shut.  Nick scrubbed a hand over his face, “On that note, let’s get some more lotion on your bum and then it’s bedtime for the both of us.”

“Lead on, Uncle Nick.”

“Don’t mind if I do, Becks-puss.”

“ _Mraow_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phall is an extremely spicy type of Indian curry, even hotter than Vindaloo. It is touted as the spiciest curry available in Indian restaurants.
> 
> Cluedo is the name given in the UK to the board game called Clue in the US.
> 
> Dare Dash is the British term for what is very unfortunately referred to by the racist term 'Chinese Fire Drill' in the US. It is a game that involves the passengers (and sometimes the driver) of a car stopped at a red light jumping out of the car, running around it in a circle and getting back into the car, either in their original seat or a different one. The aim is to complete the switch before the light turns from red to green. By extension, it also refers to any activity that appears to have people running around in relative chaos.  
> Many thanks to Whisper91 for letting me know about this much preferable term for the game


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